Blood Dreams
by 24 and 24
Summary: Unfortunate souls - those of the innocent - taken away so freely and cruelly. No one's safe. Everyone's hunted. For every step they take, someone else is willing to go to any extreme to slit their throats. Love, loss, betrayal beyond words - these Games are nothing short of a sight to see. Follow the tributes' footsteps as twenty-four authors create the Thirty-seventh Hunger Games.
1. District One Reapings

**Always' A/N:** Hello, everyone. It is my delight to welcome you to the first chapter of "Blood Dreams", a 24/24 collaboration, with twenty-four very talented authors [including me!] each writing the P.O.V. of one tribute.

The first 24/24 collaboration is called "Tears Of Blood" by 24tributes24authors. I recommend that story, and the sequel: "Bring Them To Their Knees".

Now without further ado, we bring you. . .the reapings of District 1!

* * *

**Blye Ivory****, 15 ~ District 1 Female **

**I've got cookies**

_Blye Ivory. . .won't volunteer this year. She won't volunteer at all. She is. . ._

Worst nightmare ever.

I wake up in reality.

The rising sun and buzzing alarm clock remind me that yesterday was real: I won the pre-reaping.

_I waited for the last girl to end her demonstrations._

_There were twenty-seven of us who wanted to volunteer. I wasn't the youngest: there were two fourteen-year-olds, and one thirteen-year-old. I was fifteen – the perfect age. __In fact, District 1's last victor was fifteen: Glitz; she won four years ago, so that made her nineteen now._

_Finally. The last girl came out. _

This is how it works: We go to the Career academy. When we feel ready, we go to the pre-reaping. When we have submitted our names, they call us one-by-one to personal demonstrations.

_When the victors came, we all straightened up. _

_"After hard thinking, we have decided. This year's tribute will be. . ." _Please say Blye. Please say Blye._ "Blye Ivory." _

_Yes, it's me! I'm the best!_

Well, that's not much of a big surprise. I could take them all down, the other girls who put their name in. There is nothing wrong with me being picked as volunteer tribute. If the victors picked someone else, I would've launched myself at her and killed her with my bare hands. But there was no need. I was way ahead.

"Blye, are you awake?" Mom asks, when she opens my bedroom doors and looks inside.

I am an only child. My father runs a jewelry store, so my mother doesn't have a need for work. They trained at the Career academy, but weren't picked as volunteers.

"Yes, Mom."

She's a little worried - that I'm so young. She doesn't want to let me go.

One way or another, I won't come back to this home.

But I can't say that she's awfully sad. She has this little pride inside her – that her daughter will volunteer at such a young age. And she has a little envy too – because she couldn't, even at eighteen.

"Then get dressed. You need to look beautiful." Pride comes up.

"Well, _thanks, Mom_. But it's only seven-thirty. I can still do a little jog around our street."

"If victors and trainers think you are so good at everything, then you don't need any jogs. Because you are that perfect." And here comes the envy. Gosh, sometimes she can be so irritating.

"And so what? I'm gonna' win this thing. 'Cause I am that perfect." This is my last word. I stomp to my bedroom doors and slam them in her face. I get ready for the reaping.

I'm wearing a pink dress with a high belt. I know that I'm a dangerous killing machine, but I like to look good. And Mom won't be as pissed as she should be, so she'll do my hair.

When she's done, it's only 7:50. I have some time to watch TV, but I know what will be shown there: Caesar Flickerman and the announcer guy talking about last year's Hunger Games, and what they think will happen in the District 1 reaping. I could eat something. . .no, I can't. I'm already feeling the knives, swords, and spears in my hands. Ohhh, the sweet feeling of brutalized dummy or precisely-thrown knife right into the bull's-eye.

"Blye, it's time to go." My mom rushes me. "I'll take you there by car."

"No, I'm going on foot." _'Cause I missed the morning jog because of you._

Okay, Blye, say bye to your house: Big, white, two floors. Music center. My bedroom. Walk-in closet. Furry carpet where I spent some nights because I was too sleepy. Leather sofas. Huge beds. Three flat-screen TVs. Tablet PC. And memories.

"Well, if you want to go by foot, then you should start going. It's ten minutes past eight," Mom warns.

"Bye, I'm going. See you there. I guess."

Walk, walk, walk, walk. No – jog.

I'm almost late. It's already 8:20. I don't want the victors to be mad at me.

I go to the fifteen-year-olds.

Five more minutes. Look around. Look for somebody you know. Oh, Althea – we sit together at lunch. I wave at her. She waves back. She's still in the Career academy. She told me that she doesn't feel ready this year, but I should give it a go.

Yes! 8:30, and our crazy-looking escort Faustina Glassapple settles into her seat. She has unnatural light green skin, golden hair, and a purple skirt suit. I can't say that her name is any better than her looks. I mean, Faustina? Seriously? And let's not talk about her surname.

At this time, the mayor goes to the microphone and starts to read. It's the history of Panem. Beautiful country that's in a place people called North America. He tells us about everything that this place has been through; as a result, we now have Panem. There were the Capitol and thirteen districts. After the rebellion, District 13 was destroyed and they made the Hunger Games.

When he is done, Faustina Glassapple goes to the microphone. "Welcome, everybody." And her accent. The way she pronounces "l's". . .Ugh. "Happy Thirty-seventh Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor. Now, let's pick our tributes. Ladies first."

She puts her green hand into the bowl of thousands of names. There should be four of mine, but so that no one volunteers in my place, they took all "Blye Ivory"s out. Of course, that's illegal – but in District 1, no one cares.

And the Capitol closes its eyes too, so that there can be stronger and weaker tributes.

"And this year's girl tribute is Majesty Jewett. Where are you? Come here."

Majesty is on the stage.

"Are there any volunteers?"

"Yes, there is! I volunteer as tribute," I say in a very calm tone.

I know that if I'm the first one, no one else will get this spot. Well, no one else is supposed to get this spot anyway.

I run to the stage in a little jog.

This Majesty person is so pissed by my actions – she gives me a very cold look when she goes away from the stage. She has blonde hair and light blue eyes, like me. She looks older and stronger than me. I haven't seen her at school, but where have I? The Career academy. I've seen her there at training. She's good. But I'm better.

"What's your name?" Faustina asks me in her ugh-ish accent.

"Blye Ivory," I say simply.

"Well then, let's congratulate our female tribute from District One - Blye Ivory!"

They cheer for me. And they will cheer even more when I come back as a victor. A winner of these Games.

"And with the boys." Faustina reaches into the bowl of boys' names.

It's. . .

"Delight Livingston!"

I know him. I know where to look before people open a path for him. He's my neighbor. We used to play in my sandbox when we were little. We spend some time together now, too, but not so much. He's blond and has bluish-gray eyes, like I do; well, most of us here have bluish-gray eyes.

He starts to move, not being sure about it.

"I volunteer as tribute," shouts a voice from the Sixteens' area.

But he isn't the only one. A boy from the Eighteens says the same.

"Hey!" Sixteens boy says. The Eighteens boy starts to come up the steps. Sixteens boy starts to run.

The Peacekeepers go to the Sixteens boy; it seems that they want to stop him. But they don't.

"Oh, wow. . ." Faustina seems to be very entertained by all of this.

"What are you doing? Get back there!" Sixteens boy yells at Eighteens boy.

The Eighteens boy pushes the Sixteens boy. "Shut up."

This will be good. I bet this will turn out as a fight.

And it does. Sixteens boy runs at Eighteens boy, who tries to punch him, but the younger one ducks. Sixteens boy punches the big one two times. Well, maybe this won't be as entertaining as it seemed - they fight just for a little while before Wonder, one of the District 1 victors, comes to split them up.

"All right, that's enough." Wonder gestures the Sixteens boy to the stage. He tells him something more, but I can't hear it over the cheering.

"Excellent. I think it's safe to say that this is going to be an interesting year. What is your name?" Faustina asks.

"Gleam Jewett," he announces.

"District One," she declares, "I present to you your tributes for the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games - Blye Ivory and Gleam Jewett."

She takes a step back. "Shake hands now."

I shake his hand, once.

* * *

We go to the train station by car. A very usual one. I thought it would be a limo or something, but I guess not.

The train is more fancy than the car. Leather sofas, again; I guess those are very popular now. Carpets, crystal glasses, and a lot more. Not that I've never seen stuff like this. I mean, it's not like my dad is a _jeweler_ or something. . .

"Sit down. Make yourselves comfortable," Faustina tells us, as we are already taking seats like this is our own house. Gleam doesn't sit next to me, but on the other side of the sofa. Farther, better. I don't want to talk to him now or later. Instead, he looks out of the window. I do the same thing.

Is he really that good, that they picked him at the pre-reaping? I mean, I've seen bigger guys at the academy. I will need to watch him. Just for my own safety.

The train pulls away from our home, District 1. I see the beautiful city of 15,000 as we pass by it.

"Now, of course, I understand that this may feel. . .very much like _home_ to the both of you," Faustina says warmly, "and that is to be expected; we owe many of our comforts to District 1. Take those glasses, for example." With a motion of her hand, she indicates a pyramid of crystal glasses partway filled with multicolored liquids. Beside them there are various tall, full crystal bottles. "And that mirror." She points to an ornate, gold-framed mirror that hangs on the wall across from us. "And all of our artwork. In fact, District 1 is so very like the Capitol that all of the other escorts beg for my job; you see them trying to bribe their way into better positions all the time. But it'll never work!" she says, smiling self-righteously. "I have seniority!" She places her hand on her chest. "I've been in the business since the very first Hunger Games. So ha-ha!" she exclaims, head held high with what I think is a haughty expression. "Tough luck for them!"

It takes a moment for her to recompose herself.

"Well, anyway," she says as she folds her hands, "despite all of that, I believe that the Capitol will still hold a few surprises." We don't reply, or even show that we hear her. "You each have your own room, and though you'll only be here for a short time, you're free to take anything you want. Make yourselves at home. Any questions?" Faustina asks us. I'm not feeling like answering, and I think, neither is Gleam. "No. . .? Very good. Ah, and here comes Wonder – your mentor, Gleam," she says, as she gestures to Wonder.

I didn't see him yesterday at the pre-reaping, but I've seen him in the Hunger Games as mentor.

The compartment door slides open, and Wonder comes in from the other living room.

"Where is Glitz? Wasn't she with you?" Faustina asks curiously.

"Yes, she was, but I lost her somewhere," Wonder says with a small smirk.

He is thirty-three years old, and a typical District 1 blonde, grey-eyed, muscular, and 6'5". I heard that he's married to Glamor, who is eight months pregnant with their first child. So she's staying home this year.

"Then I better go get her. She can't be that lost." Faustina leaves to look for Glitz.

"I just love to mess with her like that. I needed to pump this place up a bit." Wonder's smirk grows bigger. Neither of us respond. "So while Glitz isn't here yet, are there any questions?"

I want to see the reapings so I can start thinking about alliances. Will I stay with the other Careers, or leave? Are they too weak? I just hate weak people.

"Does she ever shut up?" Gleam asks.

"Not usually, no. That won't be a problem, will it?" Wonder still tries to be funny. Never gonna' happen.

"What do you think of the competition?"

"I stopped watching around 3, but I would definitely advise you to be wary of District 2's male. He looks like trouble."

"Don't they all. . ." Gleam says, unsurprised.

"You don't say," I chime in. "I mean, District 2 and something that we should be worried about."

The compartment door opens again, and this time it's Glitz. My mentor.

Finally.

* * *

**Dance's A/N**: First of all, I would like to thank John 'Doc' Holliday, newbie11, and everyone else on the "Blood Dreams" team who helped me with this chapter. Your advice vastly improved it. I would also like to thank just about everyone else on the team for generally being awesome.

It's always fun writing a Career, so I'm glad I signed on when I did – you get to explore the side of the story that Katniss only glimpsed from afar, the moral relativism. Gleam and Blye might not be the strongest in the pack, but then, brutal District 2 can stomp spoiled District 1 into the ground. And despite this fact, District 1 has won before.

**Gleam Jewett, 16 ~ District 1 Male**

**Dances With Vampires**

_Someone sliced a girl's head off with an axe, and kept running. (One of my sisters let out a high-pitched scream.) _

_It fell to the grass separate from the rest of her. Her eyes stared. _

_Blood ran like water._

_I cried, and turned away to face the glass coffee table. I stared at the soft, pristine white carpet. She was from 9; she didn't deserve to win anyway. But I was too young to know better: I was three-and-a-half, and this was my first Hunger Games. _

_In District 1, we mark this day like we do a child's first steps. . .or when they stand as straight as possible in a doorway, and find out they're a fraction of an inch taller. It's a sign they're growing up. _

_I look forward to sharing it with my own kids. __Maybe I'll take them out for ice cream or get them a puppy afterwards – you want it to be a good memory._

_"Gleam, keep watching," my uncle Glaze said gently._

_At that time, I didn't know he was my uncle; Crystal trailed after him, calling him Daddy. And we looked so alike, aside from his piercing blue-gray eyes. __It was a rude awakening when I found out that the world wasn't that perfect._

_I shook my head. He sat on the leather sofa in front of me, with an arm around my aunt Charm who was video-recording the whole thing. My four-year-old cousin Crystal sat next to her, totally caught up in the violence._

_My sisters weren't much more thrilled than I was. Majesty cringed away. Sublime was on the verge of hiding behind the other sofa – that had escaped his notice. __Meanwhile, I'd chosen to be right up front._

_"No."_

_"Gleam," he said sternly._

_"I don't want to."_

_My uncle sighed. "Keep watching, or you're going to take a nap."_

_I didn't say anything. I just crossed my arms and sat there. He couldn't make me._

_He stood and came over, and grabbed my arm. I tried to jerk away – "No!"_

_"Then watch!"_

_I calmed down, and so did he; he rejoined my aunt. She gave me a sympathetic smile. __I glared at him with all the anger I could summon, and turned around._

_"She's not really dead – right?" I asked hopefully after a moment._

_"Right," my aunt said. "It's just a TV show."_

_The boy that'd decapitated the girl was killing other people. People were getting killed everywhere. What was going on? What was this show?_

_"You see him?" my uncle said. "Do you know who that is?"_

_"A rebel?" I asked._

_He and my aunt both laughed; she didn't seem able to stop. __"No. . .it's Flash, a boy from District One."_ The_ boy from District 1. "Our district. He was chosen to fight in the Games, and if he wins, he'll have a lot of money. Even more than we do."_

_Death is as familiar to a Career as their own face in the mirror.__ I__t's ugly, but it's what you have to do to win the game. _

_The prize is freedom from all worries and-or cares._

_Paradise._

_"So he's not bad?"_

_"No – he's a good guy. He's a hero."_

**-An hour before the reaping-**

I study myself in the mirror above my dresser, frowning slightly. My eyes are dark brown. My short, wavy blonde hair is combed back, and still slightly damp from showering an hour ago. I'm in a white suit that contrasts brilliantly with the healthy tan of my skin; it has a diamond embedded in the tie, near the neck.

What would he say if he could see me now? His only son: not a miner, not a jeweler, but a _Career_. No, hundreds of boys are Careers. Make that: a Career hand-chosen to be a _tribute_, by the victors themselves.

Yes – that is impressive.

Would he be proud?

Would he even give a damn? After all, he wouldn't know achievement if it walked up and slapped him.

Splendor Mowery (my father) met my mother Allure Holcombe at his day job at a spa resort. Her best friend took her there for her birthday. She was twenty-six, pretty – from the pictures I've seen, where she, her older half-brother Glaze Jewett, and their younger sister Beauty Holcombe lived with their parents and had a happy family.

They went out for a short time. He got her pregnant, and didn't even bother to show while she was dying.

Committed suicide eight years later; the story aired on the news. My uncle told me about it. I thought, _that sucks_, _some guy jumped off a building. _And then I went back to stabbing my sister with a foam sword. I'd never even spoken to him once. He didn't try to find me. He didn't care.

He was _pathetic_, and I'm never going to be like that.

I cross my arms over my chest and raise my head, staring at my reflection with a cold indifference. At 6'1", I'm tall and strong, and if the academy girls like to stare, why not those in the Capitol? Add that to my training scores, and you're looking at the next resident of the Victor's Village.

Not that my current setup is all that bad. It's pretty damned good, actually, all things considering. I could be in the community home, living day-to-day on bread. Would I be in the position I am right now, preparing to mount the stage? Yeah, not likely.

So what happened? Well, the cosmos decided to give me the greatest uncle and aunt that District 1 – no, _Panem_ – has ever seen. They adopted my twin sisters and I, and raised us with their own four kids in a gated community near the square. We're talking jewelers, furriers, and vintners for neighbors; two-story houses with three-car garages, crystal chandeliers, and emerald-green lawns. That's not even the best part, though: they're both Career trainers. Could this _possibly_ get any better?

In case you were wondering: No, it can't.

I glance around my room; one way or another, this is the last time I'll ever see it. The desk is bare below tall, rectangular windows. The curtains are open. There are acres of sun-warmed carpet between the king-size bed and the white beanbag chair that looks like a giant pillow; I've actually fallen asleep more often there, in front of the widescreen TV.

My bright blue lava lamp glows on the nightstand, next to the alarm clock. It reads – **7:45** – in bold red numbers. Time to get going. If I'm late, the victors will be pretty ticked.

I walk along the sleek, dark mahogany railing of the second-floor hallway, which overlooks the foyer. I turn the corner and fly down the carpeted stairs. "All right, I'm out of here," I call when I hit the base. "Is anyone coming with me? Maj'?"

Majesty (as a Career) is hands-down my favorite sister. No offense to Sublime, of course; she just can't appreciate what a big deal this is for me. Last night, we went out to dinner. "That's really cool," Sublime said, nodding and smiling politely. "Good job." She never said anything else about it for the rest of the night.

"Not yet," Majesty answers distractedly, holding up a hand. Shush.

Around the corner in the living room, her back is to me. Her long, curly blonde hair is in ringlets; she wears a sleeveless, jeweled pink top and jeans. She is sitting on one of the leather sofas, her pale blue eyes fixated on the TV over the fireplace.

Caesar Flickerman and the announcer show a quick highlight of last year's Games, and then talk about their anticipation of the District 1 reaping. (I cross my arms on the sofa and watch with her.) District 2 isn't exactly a favorite this year: Ace Markham was stunning as the thirty-sixth victor, but what are the odds they can pull it off twice in a row? Not in their favor. This means more people – more sponsors – are looking our way (and, to a somewhat lesser extent. . .District 4's). Good news for me.

"In a minute," Majesty assures, glancing back.

"Well, I sort of have to go now," I tell her quietly.

She sighs mock-exasperatedly and stands. "Fine, I guess I have to be extra nice to you today. . ."

My nine-year-old cousin Glitter walks over to the archway. "I'll go with you. Please?"

I consider, and then give a slight nod. "Sure."

I grab my keys off a nearby table. Majesty flips a light switch and puts in a code – the garage door rolls back.

She and Glitter walk down the three steps into the room, and over to my new red sports car. The paint still shines in the sun. I had one similar a few months ago, but some moron scratched it. I unlock and start it from a distance, and get in, pressing buttons to switch from the Capitol news broadcast to the music station.

"I'm really going to miss this thing," I say, shutting my door. "Not more than you guys, though. Well. . .maybe just a little."

Majesty slaps me hard, and I reflexively hold the back of my head, cringing. "_Ow_! Hey! What happened to being nice?"

Majesty smiles. "Shove it."

I laugh, and make sure that Glitter has her seatbelt on. (She puts it on now.) Majesty stares out the window.

Before long, we're in 'merchant territory': the shopkeepers and trades-people that live in smaller two-story houses and apartment buildings, but still aren't poor enough to take tesserae.

We come to a complete stop long before we reach the square – all lanes are packed with last-minute arrivals, and Peacekeepers are directing up ahead. Definitely earning their wages today. They hardly ever actually arrest or kill anyone, at least not here.

"Can I borrow your phone?" I ask Majesty.

"Yeah, sure. . ." She pulls it out of her pocket and hands it to me.

I dial my uncle's number and wait. He answers on the second ring.

"Hello. How is everything going?"

"Could be better."

"What's wrong?" He sounds surprised, and a little concerned.

"Well, we're _all the way_ on Fourth, and traffic's backed up at least four blocks, maybe five. I would leave now, and probably take Seventh, if I were you."

"Every year," he sighs. "Don't worry, we're on our way now."

"Okay, awesome. See you soon."

I hang up and hand the phone back to her.

"Do you _have_ to volunteer this year?" Glitter whines almost immediately.

"Yes, I do," I answer matter-of-factly.

"Why?" she persists. "Why not next year – or the one after that?"

"You _know_ why."

I can't decide not to volunteer after all. I asked for this honor, and it was given to me. Only me. So if I say nothing, the reaping winner goes into the arena, and that's not the District 1 spirit.

Children are supposed to sleep soundly on reaping eve, knowing that even if by some infinitesimal chance their name is called, they won't need to move because someone will already be there to gladly take their place.

I was never afraid.

I don't doubt my choice for a second.

"You shouldn't have put your name in. . ."

"Well, I'm grateful that you have such a high opinion of me," I tease. She doesn't say anything. Her head is ducked, and she's staring at the floor. "We'll talk about this after the reaping, okay?" She still doesn't say anything.

I sigh.

We arrive at the full lot and park in the space reserved for this year's male volunteer. The female's space is empty. Well, she'd better hurry; it's already 8:20.

Hundreds are crossing through the grass and trees to the town square. They crane around and over each other as I step out of the car. Some wave – "Hey!" a girl calls. A guy in his twenties salutes. I smile and give a thumb's-up.

District 1's square is at the edge of a park, across the street from the towering brick Justice Building with marble pillars. It has a permanent stage (normally used for concerts and shows) in-between four fountains with flashing colored underwater lights, and gold coins lining the bottom. The sign-in tables are along the fountains, but most have already taken their positions.

The podium and reaping balls are at the forefront of the stage. The mayor, escort, and five victors sit underneath a backdrop of the Capitol symbol, making light, casual conversation.

I approach the stage, stopping far enough away to where the Peacekeepers only watch. They know who I am; they don't think I'll be any trouble. Of course I won't.

Wonder stands after a moment, and comes down the steps to meet me. "You'd better hurry – reaping's in five."

"I know," I say quickly. "I just wanted to thank you again."

He raises an eyebrow. Cameras are rolling. We can't say too much, just in case, but he knows what I mean. He nods.

"You can thank me by doing what you're supposed to. Now go on. Deep breaths, clear and confident."

I turn without another word and do as told.

**-The reaping-**

I find Majesty and Sublime in the Sixteens. Sublime smiles encouragingly.

"Ready?" Majesty says, barely above a whisper. I nod, and turn my attention to the stage – everyone is quieting now as the clock hand falls upon the '6'. 8:30.

The mayor stands and walks to the podium. He clears his throat and begins to read what I like to call the Panem National Anthem: it's always the same, and always just as long, and every citizen can recite it from memory. Can't they write a summary and be done with it?

"In the mid twenty-fifth century," he says, "North America, spanning all corners of Panem and farther, began to show signs of cracking under wildfires, earthquakes, floods, tornadoes, hurricanes, famines, droughts, and civil war. As the rest of the world looked on.

Three hundred years later, North America was unrecognizable. The sea had swallowed so much land. What had once been the brightest, most modern cities lie in broken heaps. Dilapidated. Pitch dark at night. Crawling with vermin and disease. So few people were still alive, most of them skin and bones, that it seemed as good an apocalyptic wasteland as those in any film that had ever existed. There was murder and anarchy. As the rest of the world looked on.

But just when the rest of the world had counted them out, the people of North America found the strength to rise up off of their knees and begin civilization anew. It would be the greatest civilization in history, more prosperous and efficient than any before. And thus, Panem was born. It shuts out the world because when it was in need of help, the world shut it out.

No citizen of Panem would go unemployed, the noble and compassionate Capitol vowed – everyone would have a purpose: to serve the greater good of the collective. In District One, this meant adding comfort, beauty, and elegance to an otherwise harsh and unforgiving reality.

But over time the thirteen districts became ungrateful. They wanted more than their fair share, which the Capitol – of course – denied them. So the districts declared war. Of all the things they could have done, this was clearly the least responsible because it cost millions of lives in a country that had just ended centuries of civil war and pulled itself back from the brink of extinction.

However, the districts were not as enlightened as the Capitol and didn't learn from their mistakes. They were barbaric and treasonous. They made attempts on the President's life. They destroyed the shining metropolis that had protected them and given them everything. They killed innocent people. Children. But in the end they got what they deserved, and order was restored, all rebels punished or executed. Civilization was saved.

And so, every year, the twelve remaining districts must sacrifice two of their own children to the Capitol they so wronged. They mustn't be angry, for they brought this on themselves, and the Capitol is enlightened and merciful – one of their sacrifices may be allowed to return home. It is a time for repentance and a time for thanks. In District One, five of our sacrifices have been returned to us: Silka Quile, in the fourth Hunger Games; Mylar Hawbek, in the eighth Hunger Games; Wonder Royal, in the twentieth Hunger Games; Glamor Delsbey, in the twenty-fifth Hunger Games; and finally, Glitz Fenon, in the thirty-third Hunger Games."

Each victor stands when their name is read. Wonder takes Glamor's hand and helps her to her feet; she's well into her pregnancy.

The applause and cheers are deafening.

All at once, they are seated again.

The mayor gestures to a middle-aged woman with gold hair and green skin, dressed in a purple skirt suit. "Now, if you will all welcome our escort, Faustina Glassapple. Thank you. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

Faustina is all smiles as she's given the floor. We applaud. "Welcome, everybody," she says breathlessly. "Happy Thirty-seventh Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor. Now, let's pick our tributes. Ladies first." She draws a name from the girls' bowl. "And this year's girl tribute is Majesty Jewett. Where are you? Come here."

I look at Majesty in shock, and then grin. For many reasons:

What are the odds?

This is such a joke; the escort acting like a reaping winner will actually go into the arena.

She is going to be so pissed two minutes from now; she already didn't win the nomination – this is adding insult to injury.

And we both know it.

"Why?" she mouths to me incredulously – before the Sixteens part for her, and she nevertheless walks onto the stage with her head held high. Disdainful of us non-reaped mortals.

"Are there any volunteers?" Faustina asks.

Are we in Panem? Are there twelve districts? Are there going to be Hunger Games from here to eternity?

Majesty tenses. She's hoping against hope that no one will answer. But of course, that's just a dream.

"Yes, there is!" someone says in a calm, clear voice. "I volunteer as tribute."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a short, small girl with long, wavy blond hair jogging past the Sixteens.

I raise an eyebrow – the victors chose that as my competition? _That_? Thank you again, cosmos. I really do owe you one.

Majesty stares at the girl coldly as she passes her on the steps. I laugh and shake my head.

I lean closer to her when she returns. "You could take her down six ways to Sunday."

"With a bow and one arrow," she whispers in disgust. "Blindfolded."

"What's your name?" Faustina asks the girl once she's on stage.

"Blye Ivory."

"Well then," Faustina says brightly, "let's congratulate our female tribute from District One - Blye Ivory!"

Again, there is applause and cheering. Majesty and I join in, simply out of tradition. Respect? I don't know, maybe. There had better be more to her than meets the eye, or I will have very little problem taking her down on Day One.

"And with the boys."

Here it is – my moment. Instantly, I straighten up, but I feel tense; maybe I'm not ready after all.

I close my eyes. _Deep breaths. Clear and confident, _I remind myself, trying to relax my muscles. They open again, staring at the Sixteens in front of me, just as she announces:

"This year's boy tribute is Delight Livingston!"

As far as tributes go, he isn't half-bad either: average height and build. He starts toward the stage, a little uncertain. . .

_Move! _I order myself.

Delight doesn't take three steps into the aisle before I turn and pass Majesty and Sublime, coming forward – "I volunteer as tribute." Delight stops in his tracks.

I'm not the only one who says it.

Magic, from the Eighteens. He received the next-highest score at the pre-reaping.

My muscles tense again, but this time it's not from stage fright. "Hey!"

He starts up the steps.

I break into a run – the Peacekeepers start to move as if to stop me, but decide against it – and slam him against the stage.

"Oh, wow. . ." Faustina looks appalled and a little frightened at the scene below her.

"What are you doing?" I snap at him. "Get back there!"

He grabs me and throws me to the foot of the steps. "Shut up."

Dazed on the ground, I know this is about to become a fistfight – he's coming down toward me. I quickly get to my feet and run at him. He responds with a carefully planned roundhouse punch; I duck, and the wide swing whistles over my head. I launch two punches in quick succession, one arm then the next, knocking the wind out of him.

And as I stand, I follow with an uppercut, bringing my fist into the bottom of his jaw; he's sent staggering back.

With a howl of rage and pain, he comes charging at me, probably to catch me in a bear hug. You watch this at the academy: a larger, more powerful Career using his brute strength to crush the life out of his opponent, until they either break free (not likely) or pass out (almost inevitable). My first impulse is to run. Dodge. Something. But Career or not, nobody is going to sponsor a coward, and that's not what I am. I'm a fighter.

I stand my ground and bring my right leg up toward him, then snap it out and push it into his gut. He falls backward onto the ground. I watch, breathing hard, hair falling into my eyes.

"All right, that's enough." Wonder has come to stand next to the podium; he beckons me onto the stage. "Good work."

Two Peacekeepers escort the boy to the Eighteens. The crowd is going wild. Justice has been served; the rightful tribute is taking his place next to the female. I gaze around at all of them – my adoring fans, my district people – and punch my fist into the air. Many eagerly do the same.

This high. . .it's like I'm already a victor.

Faustina beams. "Excellent. I think it's safe to say that this is going to be an interesting year. What is your name?"

"Gleam Jewett," I announce proudly.

"District One," she declares, "I present to you your tributes for the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games – Blye Ivory and Gleam Jewett."

She takes a step back. "Shake hands now."

I approach Blye and grip her hand firmly; I shake once, smirking.

**-After the reaping-**

"Are you nervous?" Uncle Glaze asks, as he holds out my token. It's a wide bracelet inlaid with at least five-dozen small diamonds; it's a work of art.

"Should I lie, or tell the truth?" I reply, admiring the bracelet as I put it on. "No, I'm not nervous at all," I lie confidently. "I know I can do this."

My family are my only visitors, so they were given the full hour. They're all standing around me, except for Glitter, who stubbornly insists on waiting by the doors.

"You _can_ do this." My uncle places his hands firmly on my shoulders. "That's why I recommended you – 'Let me tell you something about Gleam', I said. 'He doesn't have friends; he has sparring partners. He eats, sleeps, and breathes the Games; attachment to alliances will not even be a factor.' Fail, and I won't be able to show my face in there again." I nod grimly. "And that would be a fine way to repay me for all that I've done."

He's given me everything. Now I have to prove that I was worth it.

"I'm just afraid of ending up like Flash."

"Now's not the time to be afraid," he says. "Now's the time to learn from his mistakes."

I nod again. "I will."

* * *

The hour is almost over, and Glitter is sitting all alone in a corner with her knees to her chest.

I've already said my goodbyes to everyone else. I cross the room, and kneel in front of her.

She glances at me, and then looks down.

"I know," I sigh. "I'm a horrible human being. How dare I show my face in your presence?" She's chewing her lip, fighting an involuntary smile. "Do you think you could ever forgive me?"

She shakes her head.

"Well then, there's really no point in coming back from the arena, I guess. . ."

She looks up, startled, but quickly realizes that I don't mean it. She's amused and upset at the same time. "Stop it!"

"Stop what?" I ask, frowning in mock-bewilderment.

"That!"

"_What_?"

"Joking! This isn't funny!" Now she's all anger.

"I can't win unless I know you believe I can," I tell her seriously. "Trust me. I'll be right here at your reaping."

"And what if you don't win?" Tears start to form in her eyes.

"If for some weird, totally bullshit reason I don't, that's no excuse for you to stop training. Do you hear me? The Jewetts aren't quitters. You might succeed where I failed, and then our family will still have a victor."

Glitter wraps her arms around my neck and starts crying. I carry her to the sofa, where she sits on my lap until it's time for all of us to leave.

A Peacekeeper opens the door. Shine, Glow, and Crystal are the first to file out into the hall.

I pry Glitter's arms from around my neck, and set her aside on the sofa. "Okay, come on," I tell her, motioning toward the door, "time to go."

She's mostly gotten herself under control now. With no expression, she stands and walks out with Uncle Glaze, taking his hand.

Aunt Charm gives me one last embrace, and I hug her back, closing my eyes tightly. "I love you."

"I love you too," she says quietly. "So help me. . ."

**-On the train-**

As I stare out the window and watch the city flash past, glowing in the morning sun, filled with ordinary citizens happily going about their lives, I know – I swear – this will not be the last time I see District 1.

Faustina Glassapple starts talking. On and on. A little about the district: how great we are. We already know. But she can tell us again if she likes. Mostly about herself and how great she is.

Then something about Blye and I having our own rooms; good thing she acknowledged we won't be here that long, or I'd be tempted to roll my eyes. Very disrespectful to a Capitol citizen, something expected of a lesser tribute. So I control myself, watch the meadows of District 1's wilderness dissolve into a green blur, and keep a dull, almost bored expression on my face. There's no point in changing clothes or falling asleep, because we're only a two-hour ride from the Capitol.

The compartment door slides open. It isn't my mentor this time – it's Blye's.

Wonder, Blye, and I watch Glitz Fenon approach, smiling pleasantly at all but the former.

"Blye, Gleam." She nods to each of us. "Good to see you again." It's only been since yesterday at the pre-reaping. . . "You're ignoring each other. Typical," she continues, amused. "But _both_ of you look like real fighters; you were chosen for a reason – because we believe that out of all the students who submitted their names yesterday, you are the most likely to give District One its next victor."

Suddenly, Glitz rounds on Wonder: "Now what's this about losing me?" she demands, playfully offended. She pokes him hard in the chest. "I was in the dining car with the other mentors, as you knew perfectly well."

"Ow, that hurt," he teases. "I didn't mean anything by it, honest. I was just trying to get her out of the room."

"Uh huh – sure you were. Am I getting on your nerves, Wonder? Am I a pest?" Wonder just laughs. "Well, I'm gonna' be!"

"You'd think _they_ were married," I murmur to Blye, smiling. "Want to go watch the reapings?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Blye says unemotionally.

We stand and enter the other living compartment that Glitz just came out of, where there are more sofas and chairs made of soft leather; another table covered by an expensive cloth and more food than the escort, all five victors, and both tributes combined could possibly eat in two hours (without getting sick); and a wall-mounted television that's been on since we got here.

District 4's reaping just ended. Now it's a commercial break, and then the Capitol will show recaps and move on to 5's. The power district. They're important, necessary, etc. – who doesn't love electricity; we're using electricity right now, in fact – but their tributes are usually less than uninteresting.

So we sit there in an awkward silence. All I hear are the sharp knives next to the steak calling my name. We gaze around the room, or out the window, where you can see the first stone quarry. It's near the edge of the district fence, deserted for today.

Then the recaps start, and we focus intently on the screen, not wanting to miss any details about the other Careers.

She's just fifteen, but Blye is way more relaxed than I am when she takes the stage. She seems calmer in general, and more reserved; she's hardly said a word since we got on the train. Then there's the fact that I narrowly avoided having my skull bashed in on live television. According to the announcer, there's something to be said for a tribute that wins a fight before the Games have even begun.

There isn't much to District 2's female, Lila, either; she's completely average in every respect – height, weight, and appearance. I have to laugh when she's just staring at the crowd, everything's so quiet you can hear a pin drop, and then the escort has to go and ask her name in a tone of voice that makes it sound like she's an idiot.

True to my mentor's word, however, the male – Dominic – could tear me to shreds, let alone an outlier. _Holy shit. . ._is all I can think, because when he tells everyone that they're looking at the next victor, you sort of can't help but believe him.

District 3 is nothing special, no one useful. They have a volunteer, but he doesn't appear to be any more lethal than their usual reaping winners. What chance does he think he has?

District 4 is better. Strong enough to compete with us. The male – Nolan – is several inches shorter than I am, but he's muscular. And the female – Alison – is deceptively pretty for someone so vicious. The display she makes with her challenger isn't as violent as mine, but still impressive.

These – with the obvious exception of 3 – are our allies and our worst nightmares, rolled into one.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Blye asks, lifting one eyebrow.

"We'll have our work cut out for us, but at least District Three won't be a problem?"

District 5's reaping is starting now; their mayor is reading the National Anthem. But we're completely ignoring it.

"No. We should team up with Districts Two and Four. And yes, District Three won't be a problem. But now we are thinking about alliances, Gleam," Blye says harshly.

I'm stunned for a moment – but only because she's being so deathly serious about something so ridiculously simple. I smile. "What is there to think about? District One always teams up with Two and Four. I would honestly be in shock right now if you'd suggested turning and running the other way."

Not that it would be that bad of an idea. With competition like this, the finale of the Thirty-seventh Games is sure to be quite legendary.

"Yeah, well, we don't know what they will think of us."

I narrow my eyes and cock my head to the side in mock-indignation. "What are you trying to say, exactly?"

"Look at me," she replies, in that same deathly serious tone, "I'm short and all. You, maybe. I will have to prove myself."

"Yeah," I agree, "you they might have questions about, but me? No, I don't think so. . ." She's still glaring. "I'm kidding, relax. You'll do fine. There's a reason they chose you and not some eighteen-year-old."

I would love to know that reason, but I'm not stupid enough to ask. I don't even know if Wonder's allowed to tell me what it was she did at the pre-reaping demonstrations.

"Well, maybe they will be. . ." She pauses when she sees something on the screen. I follow her gaze, and stare. Smoke is coming from the District 5 stage, and the crowd is panicking and fleeing the square. ". . .worse than they look," she finishes very slowly.

A few seconds later, the feed cuts out.

* * *

**Capitol TV**

**Currently Experiencing Technical Difficulties**

**We Apologize for the Inconvenience**

* * *

The above message is displayed in black letters on a bright red background.

"What was that?" I ask.

The train glides past a distant village.

Blye doesn't say anything, and the TV displays that same unwavering message.

I decide I might as well shut the steak knives up. I collect all four from the food table, and then sit at a chair, facing the opposite wall.

Blye stands and walks around the sofa, leaning against it.

"I challenge you," she says with a smug, competitive smile. "I must warn you, though, I am awesomely good at throwing knives. Go first."

I hold out two knives without looking at her, and she takes them and waits. I select one of mine – they're identical: long, serrated silver blades with smooth, dark wooden handles. I hold the tip steady slightly above my eyes. I let the knife fly with a snap of my wrist – it whistles through the air, and hammers itself into the white-and-silver wallpaper with a vibrating thud.

"Your turn," I tell her.


	2. District Two Reapings

**Always' A/N:** Hello, everyone. I just wanted to congratulate the District 2 authors on an awesome chapter.

Wjj and Writer [their nicknames] now bring to you…the reaping of District 2!

* * *

**Wjj's A/N: **Hello! Obviously, this is wjjmwmsn5 (or just wjj) here, and I'm extremely honored to be a part of this, and that you even _clicked it_! We've all worked super hard. I really hope you liked the District One people, and - of course - especially hope you like the District Two people (hint, hint, specifically the female), and all the rest of the tributes.

Lots of craziness, effort, and coping with something we call "Life" came into effect during this cooperation. Altogether, despite that, we're all very insane and this came out relatively not insane. Can you believe it? Well, we've got tons of _great_—24, to be exact—authors working on this, and…

Yeah, I should shut up now, shouldn't I?

**Lila Callbrooke, 17 ~ District 2 Female**

**wjjmwmsn5**

Moments, hours, weeks have gone by since I decided to volunteer, to be put in the pre-reaping. Poked and prodded until I've become the most perfect of them all; I'm a shoo-in. There's no doubt in anyone's mind that I'll win—anyone that's met me, that is. It is as certain as the sun is a ball of fire. It might just be out of kindness that they say this, when they might secretly be ridden with jealousy. But from what I have heard, there is absolutely no _doubt_.

The pre-reaping is an occurrence in which all those who want to volunteer show up at the chairman's house—the chairman of the Career Training association, or whatever those in it call it. All names are entered in two bowls and drawn the night before the real reaping. My name was drawn last night, along with Dominic Parraldi, a seventeen-year-old arrogant boy who will be torn apart. By me, who else?

My parents take it as fate. So, again, there's "no doubt".

_I_ have doubts, though—but those doubts are cowardice, and cowardice is forbidden, absolutely unheard of in District 2…or so most think. I'm sure a lot of tributes were like me—ready and anxious, but somewhat afraid and doubtful about their volunteering. Not everyone, though. It's one of the few things that differ in District 2.

You see, in District 2, unless you have something really special, or you try really, really hard, you blend into the dust like a chameleon. I know it's probably not as bad as I think. Some people tell me I over-exaggerate—to which I always say, "I've never exaggerated _once_," so that my reply's an exaggeration. I honestly think that here, you really do fade into the wind. In most circumstances. If you're tall, lean, mean, and a total killing machine, you'll be the wonder of everyone's eyes, of course.

"And I'm just so damn tall," I whisper, half-asleep, to the no-one that's staring me down. I roll my eyes at my sarcasm, which I so often use, because it's just _me._

But I'm not, really. I'm not tall, that is; I'm of average height. I'm not lean; I'm of average weight and muscle—but stronger than most think. I'm mean, though; "no mercy" is my greatest policy. And yes, I'm a killing machine, so to say—but who isn't in District 2? I blend in like a chameleon, whereas I'd like to stick out like the other brilliantly different citizens, the ones who are strong, tall, perfect, and - above all - _noticed_.

Once I'm fully awake, I know immediately what day it is, and stare out the window at the mountains where the masons dig. I've been taught that those are the dishonored that work in those mountains, unless they work in the largest one closest to the square. I'm glad I'll never be like those people: sunken down into the lesser villages and torn from the Capitol's small amount of mercy. But still rich and comforted.

I get up from the warmth of my bed, and think of the riches and joy that radiate off of my district victors' auras. It's either joy, or they're remembering just exactly how they killed people, or they're just real good actors, actresses, and liars.

Downstairs, I expect my parents' faces swarming me, asking questions, checking to see if I slept all right, if I have my outfit picked out, what I would like to eat. No, they're not just nice—or clingy—like that. Since I'm volunteering, they want to keep me in tiptop shape as long as they have me.

They're holding iciness in their auras while sitting across the room from my three brothers, who spent the night last night at our house since I'm volunteering and they all live in faraway villages. While the children are mostly quite close to the family, once they've left the house, it's no longer a part of them. Except for in Zee, the second oldest. He's still like me.

"Hi," I say, walking over to the wooden rocking chair that I loved when I was younger. I sit delicately and observe the glares all but Zee hold. He smirks at me. "What?"

"I can't believe my sister is going to win the Hunger Games," he says, almost giddily. "I can't…it's awesome."

I smile. "I know." He's twenty-three and married to this awful, awful woman that has a lot of money. Though we're the closest, I never visit him. She gets on my every last nerve.

"Let's eat," my mother announces, breaking the tension. There was none for Zee and I, but for the others, it was giant. She motions to me. "Get changed, though. In that white dress that Tellia made, all right?"

There are many seamstresses in the district, and it's more fanciful and professional to get clothes imported from District 8, but Tellia Creem is by far the best that I know, and there's no passing up her work. But I'd never tell anyone, for admitting I bought from a seamstress is very low. It's what the dishonored do. Maybe—_maybe_—that's a bit of an over-exaggeration.

I go upstairs again, looking for the dress. It's the first in my closet, its frill of lace quite beautiful against the creamy whiteness. Undressing, I throw my pajamas on the floor—I won't have to pick them up, since I'll be off winning the Games—and redress in reaping clothes. Then I grab a brown leather bracelet that says "KEEP FAITH" in bold, red letters - my token - from my bedside table. I hurry downstairs and walk into the kitchen.

I sit between Zee and Alex, the oldest brother at twenty-five. He's depressed. Lost his girlfriend to the Games years ago - the year he turned nineteen. Months ago, he came home to train me. He reminded me to kill the male from the district that killed her. Because he never got to.

"Who is the boy picked to volunteer?" my father asks.

"Dominic Parraldi," I tell him, plucking a strawberry from my fruit salad. I chew the juicy fruit and rake my fork for a grape or an apple slice.

"What's he like?" asks Trais, the second youngest Callbrooke sibling. I'm the youngest.

"Tall. Muscled, I guess," I say. "Looks strong."

"Oh. Make sure that if he and you battle, it's at a long distance," warns Trais. "I think I've seen him train before."

I nod. Since he is the most demented and sardonic person in the family, I'm going to have to trust him about battling. I'm sure he's imagined it enough. After all, he _was_ supposed to volunteer. The year he was going to volunteer, he was reaped, and a backup volunteer was sent in.

We chew and swallow, chew and swallow, chew and swallow for a moment, and then Alex pipes up. "What is it that you always used to say about faith when Zee and I were young, Mom?"

My mother smiles. "Um. I think I just said, 'Keep faith, little ones.' Or something. It's been years since I've said that."

"Didn't Grandma teach you that?" Zee asks.

"Oh, yes." My mother nods.

And then, all because of quiet, secluded, hateful Alex, a family-like, almost joyful conversation spreads through our meal. It's like when I was ten, and we were all in the house, enjoying each other. The next year, all went down the drain.

"Time to go," announces my mother - an organized and timely person, but nowhere near the escorts from the Capitol.

I leave the house first, and go to the square alone. When I finally reach it, I sign in. The pinprick of pain inflicted by the shock is barely even pain. I go to where my age section is, smiling faintly as I look at the stage. Soon, I'll be up there…

My friend, Gina, comes and stands next to me. "Next year, I hope I get to volunteer," she says as people file in. I got here rather early. In my circumstance, who wouldn't? "You're lucky."

"I know," I say, and focus on the pitter-patter of feet clacking through the square to sign in, get to age sections.

I ignore the glares and try to smile halfheartedly and aloofly—almost indifferently, in a way—at the congratulating looks. Gina nudges me when she notices. "Don't smile. You're already better than them. Don't acknowledge their…similarities to you." Yeah, Gina's a talker, and controlling too.

I roll my eyes. "Sure thing."

Sarcasm—my best friend.

No, Sarcasm is _not_ a real person. But there is a girl in my year in school and training named Compassion. You'd think it'd be something like "Sharp", "Pride", or "Honor", or something. No, she got stuck with "Compassion." And honestly, she's the most vicious person I know, even more than me. But I could take her in the arena.

It's about fifteen more minutes before the clock strikes nine, and the mayor steps up to the stage. Everyone that wasn't at the pre-reaping must be antsy, because you can just feel the anxiousness in the air. The mayor recites the speech he does every year: about how Panem and the Hunger Games came to be, and the Treaty of the Treason.

"Now I will read the previous list of victors," announces the mayor. Seven in all, and soon to be eight. "Dallan Rander of the Fifth Hunger Games; Gratiana Vunder of the Tenth Hunger Games; Claudia Willis of the Nineteenth Hunger Games; Avitus Malroy of the Twenty-ninth Hunger Games; Lexibeth Rhode of the Thirtieth Hunger Games; Lionel Morellus of the Thirty-fourth Hunger Games; and Ace Markham of the Thirty-sixth Hunger Games.

"May I introduce," continues the mayor, "our escort, Alla Vret!"

Alla Vret's outfit this year is...wow. Her blue hair is topped with a fishbowl as a hat. Her skin is blue, green, and scaly. And the outfit? A paper-white dress with blue stripes (like notebook paper), and a big reaping bowl around the dress. Just...wow.

"Hello," she calls, squeaking out her Capitol accent annoyingly with more meaningless phrases until she reaches the one every escort always uses at a reaping about odds in our favor. "Ladies first!" Her hand shoots into the bowl, like if she doesn't get this over quick, she's going to die.

If I'm reaped, someone else is going to volunteer—I'm sure of it. So I can't be reaped. All doubt, cowardice, or fear is ripped and shredded; I just have to be in the Hunger Games. Very simple.

"Sierra Dome!"

I sigh with relief. A little twelve-year-old steps up, and I walk onto the stage proudly without any interruptions. She steps back. _Sometimes_, Gina has good advice. But, then again - if she had good advice all the time, I wouldn't admit it.

"I volunteer as tribute," I say into the microphone, keeping my voice smooth, confident, and strong. I smirk a little bit as I look out at the crowd looking up at me…expectantly? Oh, who knows or cares? This is perfect, just perfect - for me to volunteer, when so many things happened to make my family not able to, or too old when they finally wanted to no matter what happened at the pre-reaping...

"Your name?" asks the escort. "What's your name, dear?"

Oh. _That's_ the expectancy. "Lila Callbrooke," I answer, in the same voice I used to say that I volunteer.

"Okay, Lila, our volunteer!" Alla says, even though we all know there's going to be another volunteer—even those who weren't at the pre-reaping.

"Gentlemen!" booms Alla Vret.

She walks to the boys' reaping bowl, sticking her hand in less urgently, more smoothly, and pulling out a name. I know who's going to volunteer, and it's so unlikely for him to be reaped that there's little to zero anticipation in me. All I want to see as of right now is how he volunteers - if it's proudly, or what.

"Cyrus Paxter!" trills Alla.

A not-too-special boy takes a few steps. And then an "I volunteer as tribute!" comes from the crowd. Dominic Parraldi steps forward. I get a look at him, not just an "I'm-going-to-kill-you" glance at the pre-reaping. If I said he was average in appearance, I'd be a big fat liar.

Now, I'm average - with my long, straight, pretty brunette locks; my emerald eyes with brown speckles; my freckles that never left with age; my round face; my average height. I'm just so average.

But he is…just not.

And that makes him competition. Real big competition.

He says what he says, which I'm now too stubborn to pay attention to, and then the escort says a few things—which I'm still too stubborn to pay attention to—and then we're taken to the Justice Building to say our goodbyes—which I'm not too stubborn for.

In the little room in the big Justice Building, a crying-with-joy mother walks into a joyful volunteer's goodbye room. A happy family follows, bent together by the knowledge of their sister or daughter going into a fight to the death to win. That…that event I just described right there—that's what's going on right this moment to me—me!—the female volunteer of District 2 for the Thirty-seventh Hunger Games.

Too perfect.

"You…go do it," says my mother.

"How could I not?" I say, reveling in the glory. It's magnificently marvelous.

"There's no possible alternative," snaps Alex, losing all the joy he's had today. "Win. Win, Lila. You _have to win_. Do you hear me?" Before I can say something sarcastic, he continues, and I can hear every ounce of pain in his voice. "_Do you hear me_? _You. Have. To. Win_."

"Calm it down, Alex," Trais barks. "She's going to, if I could."

"And you so could," growls Alex.

"Yes! I could!" Trais hisses back.

"Nah. Nah, you couldn't; you'd have _died at the Bloodbath_ to someone like District Twelve or Nine or Eight," Alex says horribly coldly to Trais. "I could've. _I_, _me_, _Alex Callbrooke_, not you, Zee, or you, _Trais_. Just _me_ and Lila."

"You conceited, little—" Trais starts.

"_Please_, just _stop_," I snap over his next insult.

"Exactly, this is about Lila, not you two," Zee points out. We always seem to be on the same page without even trying. "_Shut up_, say bye to Lila, and then we can all get out of each other's lives until she wins!" Except now—we're not on the same page now. I'd have stopped at his first comment. Now he's fueled to the fire—and there's no turning back. My parents just watch. Oh, how they love to test us to our limits.

My father approaches me as my brothers argue. We only have a few minutes more, and they're fighting. "Listen, I know you can do it. Don't get distracted, don't trust—don't do anything but fight, okay, my Lila?"

"Okay," I say.

"See you soon." And then both of my parents leave, and a Peacekeeper extracts my brothers from the equation; they go out yelling, kicking, cussing - at each other, not the Peacekeeper.

I'm alone, waiting for Gina or our eighteen-year-old friend Swift. But neither come. Jealousy must be large in their veins, and they must not see a reason to visit their best friend as she goes off to the Hunger Games. Oh, District 2, how you love to bend us and make us all jealous, selfish people. And I'm not one to talk: I, too, am a jealous and selfish person.

I wait and wait for a while, thinking of the arena, anxious to see my competition. Before I'll be taken to the train, where the not-average Dominic Parraldi, two victors, and Alla Vret will wait. I can just imagine the _fun_ we'll all have. I can just _see_ the laughs and good times we'll share.

A Peacekeeper escorts me out of the Justice Building. Cameras flash everywhere. I know I should be trying very hard, as hard as possible, to get sponsors. But honestly, if they really want to sponsor me, they shouldn't decide it off of me waving on their television screen, or viciously or sweetly smiling on a magazine cover. They should base it off of my training score, my interview, and - above all - my performance in the arena.

Dominic, though, doesn't seem to get that when we are pushed together. Waving and smiling, I think he looks like a complete _idiot._ And whether that was decided grudgingly because he's making more sponsors than me or not, it's still true. Because I bet sponsors can't save him once I have him on the ground, begging for mercy as I throw the dart, knife, dagger - whatever I get my hands on - and end his precious little life.

One man very close to me tries to take my picture. I try not to scream or snarl at him. Dominic laughs. Oh, how he's going to regret _that_, no matter how small of an act. We'll see who's to laugh at soon, and it will _not_ be me, by far. "Not going to get sponsors that way," he says through the side of his mouth, keeping his attention forward on the crowd.

I take another deep breath, because I'll admit it: I'm so on-edge that I might fall off the edge. My brothers, my damn brothers, just _wasted_ what _could be _(but won't be) their last chance to see their sister (their only sister) in person for the rest of their lives. By arguing their asses off in the stupid Justice Building over _who could win the Hunger Games. _And I don't care how disrespectful it is to them, or how bad their lives are right now, but they're never going into an arena, _ever_, so they _really_ just need to _give it up_.

Now, I don't know about Dominic, but I want to snap a head off, and his neck is holding one of the precise heads that I'm thinking about snapping off.

I growl a bit to Dominic, hoping he doesn't hear the deep breaths I'm taking so I don't attack him and everyone here. It's pretty much drowned out, though, because of all the Capitol citizens judging our strengths by how damn good we look. Well, if that's really the case, I just got a C. When I'll really be tearing people to shreds in the arena. It makes me extremely angry, annoys me so…

Soon, we're at the train, which is gigantic compared to any I've seen for the many things shipped from 2, or to 2. Even the loads and loads of trained Peacekeepers don't get a train as big as this. And it's all for me…and Dominic, of course, but in my anger at him and just about everything right now, he doesn't count.

Suddenly, I realize how childish I sound. It's not my fault, nor does it matter, that my brothers wasted their time; that's their problem. And the Capitol people shouldn't really make me so angry, since they're the ones that are going to provide for me in the arena. Still, I do think that they shouldn't judge us off of what we look like and how we react to them.

But Dominic—I don't think anything could make him not so annoying.

On the train's steps, Dominic strikes a pose. I roll my eyes as people scream and women literally faint. Who would be stupid enough to fall for him?

Dominic chuckles arrogantly. "Don't think you can top that, can you?"

I roll my eyes at him again. "You better watch it," I say, holding back a smile as snide warnings fill my brain. "Arrogance gets you killed." But _that's_ what I say. _That_ is what, of all things, I say to this guy who so badly needs to be shown who's really in charge in the alliance. Speaking of which, I wonder who my other allies are.

Smiling wider, Dominic coos out, "Come on, short stuff."

"Don't ever call me that," I snarl, baring my teeth and waiting for him to back down. He laughs. Yeah, he's not helping himself _at all_. "Stop that!"

"Stop what?" he asks me innocently.

"Stop laughing at me."

"There's a difference between laughing and chuckling." That. Is. The. Last. Straw. _I_ use those types of comments and remarks, and using them _against me_ isn't acceptable, and that's just plain that. One day, one day, one day, he'll learn. He'll learn from me, and I don't think he'll be exactly overjoyed by the way I teach him this. But maybe if he hadn't started off so annoyingly, we could've gotten along well. Too late. It's too bad.

I turn my back to him, narrowing my eyes at the chair I am about to sit in. "What_ever_, just quit it."

He shrugs a little when I've sat down. "Fine, whatever you say, sweet thing." I whip to him, kind of jumping a little. He's getting ridiculously hard to manage. Teasing me, and then flirting? I have no _clue_ what type of game he's playing, but it's not only confusing me but getting on my nerves, too. Maybe not today, but I'll steal his game and use it on him, somehow.

"What did you just call me?" I snap.

"Sweet thing." He answers simply, shrugging indifferently, slightly grinning, playing me like a kitten with a ball of yarn. He answers like I actually hadn't heard. But I know that he knows I heard. He's playing me like I'm going to fall for it, like he's actually going to mess me up. "I have other names for you, too." It catches me off guard when he says this. "Want to hear them?"

Through my newly gritted teeth, I reply with a curt, "I'd rather not, thank you very much."

Raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes in such obvious mock-confusion, he asks, "What? Don't you want to know how to make my world spin?"

"Oh, it'll be spinning when I knock you upside the head," I spit, breathing through my nose deeply.

His devious grin makes me want to close my eyes, breathe deeply…and then punch him in the face. "Ooh - vicious, are we?" This remark only makes my want-to-punch-him feeling stronger. "I like it." And stronger. He moves in close to me. And stronger. And just as I start to contemplate if I actually _should_ punch him in the face, I realize how close he got to me.

Confusion and utter disbelief that he might actually kiss me right now makes me freeze. I've kissed before—I have. But only twice, _maybe_ three times. And twice with one boy.

The first time, I was twelve and a perfect example of a twelve-year-old. It was this boy named Carlton, I think. And I'm not perfectly sure, but I think he died in either the Hunger Games, or was murdered actually in the district. Or did he get run over by a train…?

And the next time was when I was fifteen, and it was my second actual boyfriend—we don't necessarily have time for relationships when you're someone like me, training for what I'm soon to go into—named Jonah. I think we kissed twice before my training got too thick and took up too much time, and we just kind of…well, it's too girly to explain for me.

I really, really can't move, can't think, and certainly can't refuse, no matter how much I hate this not-average boy. "I like vicious. They're the most fun," he says, so close to me. The space is unbelievably small. _This is not what you're here for, _some functioning part of my brain tells me. _Move_. _To get back home to your family - your hateful but still related family - you must move, Lila. Move._

"Most fun?" I get out. "What do you…? Oh, God. You got to be kidding me!" What a jerk. What an utterly disgusting jerk, playing me…I step back a little bit.

He's just shrugging! Oh, God, I'm going to kill him so hard! "Seriously. It's the vicious ones you have the most fun with," he explains. "It provides a challenge and makes things interesting. Want me to put you down as a possibility?"

I'm going to barf.

Walking up, I point a finger directly at his chest. "You listen here," I demand angrily. "I'm here to win the Games. I'm not here to have fun. Especially not that kind of fun. Okay? So aren't you?" How dare he think he can do that to me, to any girl? I don't know how I never noticed him before, but if I had, I certainly wouldn't have fallen for his games, and I won't now, nor will I condone them.

"Nothing wrong with a little fun along the way," he says.

I purse my lips and back away, leaning slightly forward like I'm about to lunge. I want to grab his neck and yank it from his shoulders. Within me - deep in the dreaming part of me - I really am doing that, in an alternate universe where I am way strong and he is way weak. The thought calms me a little bit.

"Just stay away from me tonight. And you won't have your throat ripped out."

"So, should I put you down as a maybe?" he prods.

Too far. _Too far._ He's gone way, way too far. I turn around coldly, and march away before I rip his hair out. Behind me, he laughs his head off. I walk faster.

In my room, I'm taken aback by the intricate perfection of every detail. All for me. Well, maybe; I look in the dresser for a female's clothes, see that it is full of female clothing, and lie on the bed, calming down. But only slightly. I look at my bracelet, and - without really knowing it - begin stroking the part that doesn't have letters. And then tracing the letters lightly. God, if every day is like this, I'm going to die in the arena from a major, fatal headache.

And no matter what, that can't happen. I can't die. I have to kill the person who's of the same district and gender as the guy that killed Alex's girlfriend, for one. I have to honor my family and my district. I can't fail them. If I do…then I wasted my entire life training so I wouldn't fail them, and I just can't. I just can't fail them, cannot fail them, can_not_ fail them.

It's pointless to hope. Because there's no doubt I'm going to win, right? Isn't that what everyone tells me? That's what everyone else assumes. Even when ripping their throats out at what could possibly be the last time they see me, or not seeing me at all, it's all _anyone_ can think. "Isn't that right?" I whisper to my bracelet, stroking its leather surface and remembering when life wasn't like this - so full of hate and deception and aggravation, and…everything bad in the world.

I guess…I guess I have to win because it's the last chance I have. For so, so many things.

I still don't think I'm noticed, either; I still blend in, especially next to _Dominic_. _What_ can I even try to do that will possibly make these people that I live with every day see that I'm more? I'm _more_ than what they see, than what they've seen. I guess, right now, I can do nothing for that, and never, ever will unless I win these Games.

I can tell that there's going to be some necessary acting on my part, and there will also be a little deception. I'll have to make up and keep little secrets for the Capitol to later enjoy as they watch me.

I drift off, slowly.

Right now, there's nothing I can do but exactly what my bracelet tells me.

* * *

**Writer's A/N: **Hello, all. This is WriterFreak101. I don't want to write too long of an author's note.

It's awesome to be part of a project as large and major and fantastic as this. You are getting a look at the way twenty-four writers write. There are people here from various fandoms and pairings, people with completely different beliefs, people who are just completely different from one another in general. Yet there is one thing we all have in common: a powerful love for The Hunger Games, the amazing series that has captivated audiences across the globe and the authors taking part in this project. We all hope you will enjoy it.

Now then, I'll shut up so you can begin reading.

**Dominic Parraldi, 17 ~ District 2 Male**

**WriterFreak101**

I stand in front of the punching bag chained to a heavy piece of equipment, in the private gym of my basement. The world around me is calm. I hear my mother's footsteps in the kitchen above me; she is making breakfast now, talking to herself. Every morning, she does that. I think it helps her make decisions or something. Somewhere in the house, my stepfather is probably getting ready for the reaping; I think I hear the water making its way through the pipes to the shower. I am only certain of two things. One - that I am punching this bag with blinding fury, imagining it's the head of a kid whose face I'm violently rearranging. The other is that I am going to win the Hunger Games.

There is no doubt about it. Everyone knows that of all the tributes this year, I am going to win. The thought of victory adds more fuel to my fire. Back when I was five, I had a dream that I would win the Games. That was the first year I can recall watching and remembering. When I saw those kids dueling one another, fighting each other trying to win honor and glory, I was awed by it. One day, I wanted to be those kids; I wanted to win glory and honor for myself. I wanted to be a victor. When I turned eight, my parents hired me my first private mentor. When I was twelve, I was finally entered in an academy, where I quickly became the top of my class.

Don't ask me how, but I knew when I went to the Head Chairman's house for the pre-reaping, I was going to be selected. I stood with the rest of the seventeen-year-old boys who had signed up to volunteer. They all had hard expressions. Just like me, they were ready. They wanted to be in the Games. This was what they had been training for their whole life.

They first chose the girl. Her name is Lila Callbrooke. She's my age, small and average-looking. Admittedly, maybe for an average girl she's kind of hot. Kind of. Not on the top of my list of girls who I would bed with, but perhaps the top twenty or something.

Then they chose the boy. My feeling was proven true. I saw all eyes in the room glare at me; the eighteen-year-old guys looked like they wanted to kill me. I didn't care, though. I may have been a year younger than them, but I could take on half of them very easily. Besides, I was too excited.

"Dominic!" I throw a few more punches, ignoring the voice. "Dominic!" I don't want to listen to anyone. All I want to do is get in my daily morning workout before I start getting ready. "Dominic, I'm trying to talk to you!"

Dealing out one more powerful punch, I turn away from the bag. My teeth are clenched, as they always are whenever I'm practicing. My adrenaline is pumping and I feel like I want to spar with someone. I consider doing so with my stepfather, who is standing there with his arms folded across his chest. By the look on his face, I can tell he isn't too happy with the fact I have been ignoring him for so long. Whatever. I don't like him. In fact, I loathe him with a passion. Not because he's done anything bad to me or my mom. No, he's not that kind of guy. Kind of the opposite, really. He doesn't like fighting as much as some people in 2. He can deal out a punch, and hold his own in a fight when he has to. Overall, he's a more passive guy.

No, the reason why I hate him so much is the fact that my mom divorced my dad for him. He was the reason why they decided to break up. He was the one my mother chose after the divorce was finalized. They started the divorce when I was four, but it took nearly two years for everything to settle. When she married him about six months later, I wanted to kill him. He just walked into my life, thinking that he could possibly replace my father. In the divorce, my mother was given full custody of me. I see my father sometimes on weekends. But he ignores me. My mother does too. I hate them. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. Still.

And it's because of that my stepfather keeps trying to win me over. He tries to talk with me when I've made it clear numerous times I want nothing to do with him. He asks me about my day like a father should. He asks me how my schoolwork outside of Career training is going, and if I need any help. (I don't, actually, I'm a pretty decent student. Usually good and excellent marks, though I wouldn't say I'm smart.) It pisses me off beyond belief. Because that's what I want my own parents to do, yet my stepfather keeps trying to do it for them.

I can feel sweat beading down the side of my head as I glare at my stepfather. No wonder. I've been hammering at this bag for nearly fifteen minutes with only one-minute breaks every two minutes. I grab a towel that rests on a bench and begin to wipe the sweat from my face and neck. Then work on drying my trimmed dark hair. Grabbing the water bottle I have rested on the bench alongside the towel, I take a drink. I swirl the water around in my mouth for a bit, holding it in there. Then slowly swallow. When I finish, I manage to growl fiercely, "What do you want?"

It angers me that he doesn't flinch. Many people who hear me growl like that usually cower. I made a twelve-year-old boy cry once when I did it. (Hey, it was the brat's fault.) Yet no matter how much power and hatred I put in the growl, it never seems to phase him. Instead, he just shrugs. "Your mother is about to finish breakfast. With you being the volunteer and all, I figured you would want to get to the square as soon as possible."

I don't understand how he can be so thoughtful towards me after everything he does. It makes me sick. No, really, I want to gag. Though deep down, I actually think I am grateful. But I don't want him to see it. Or know it. Wouldn't want to give the man false ideas and get his hopes up. So instead of thanking him, I reply, "Whatever."

He sighs, shrugs, and climbs up the steps. After a minute, I pick up my towel and water bottle. I take the towel and roll it down the laundry chute. The bottle I take to my bedroom and leave on my dresser. After I get in the bathroom, I start the shower. I make sure to wash myself from head to toe, using only the best shampoos, conditioners, and soaps I have. Then I step out and dry. Once that's done, I walk back to my room with the towel around my waist and dress in a gray dress shirt and a black and white striped tie. Once I'm finished, I make my way downstairs, where my mother has already started eating. It annoys me and angers me, because while she's eating, my stepfather is sitting at the table waiting for me! Again, he does it! Makes it look like he's innocent in everything.

I only just barely manage to tackle my emotions, and not tackle my food like I would attack a tribute. My mom has made eggs, sausage without a lot of grease, low-fat bacon, and fresh orange juice with the pulp still in it. Hey, when you're a Career, you don't get the luxury of eating whatever you like. You have to watch your diet. Heck, I even have a machine in my room that analyzes my blood so that I know what I need more of. While I had been boosting my protein intake over the past month, apparently I haven't been getting enough Vitamin C.

The table is silent as I wait for my mom to say something. A good morning, or something. But it doesn't come. When she does speak, all she says is, "So you're the volunteer this year?"

I nod. "Yeah. At the pre-reaping ceremony, I was selected."

My mother nods in approval. "That's good. Means you'll be taking part in the Hunger Games. Going to give you a chance to bring honor and glory to our family."

I could care less about my family honor. Especially because my mother and father haven't done a good job at being 'family'. No, the only honor and glory I'm going for is the kind that will be given to me. When I win the Games, I will forever be looked on by adoring fans as a victor. A champion over all the others. Someone to glorify. Already, I can hear the crowds roaring my name. The photos being taken. My face appearing on the cover of every news and magazine article. Hell, I know I will win Sexiest Man Alive. I heard that dark hair, tanned skin, and brown eyes is the rage in the Capitol this year.

Of course, I'm not going to get any of that if all I do is sit around dreaming about it. When I finish the food on my plate, I follow it up with the orange juice, which I clear out in one huge gulp. I take my plate over to the sink and throw it in there. I don't even bother washing it. I know that my mom or my stepfather will take care of it. (Mom usually does the dishes, it's actually sad on my part that the dishes get more attention from her than I do.) I brush my teeth, floss, and swish around some mouthwash for good measure. Once I'm finished with that, I head out the door, calling out to my mother and stepfather that I'm heading to the reaping and I'll see them when they come to say goodbye.

There's only a response from my stepfather.

I'm fuming as I make my way to the square of District 2. There, we are divided up based on names and genders. About half an hour passes, and then the reaping starts. After the anthem plays, the mayor comes up and does his usual job. I tune out the history of Panem and how the Dark Days happened and the founding of the Hunger Games. Yeah, that's all swell and all, but seriously, nobody gives two cents. After that, he introduces the past victors. All of our victors are still alive, though our oldest is getting to be in his fifties and I heard that his health hasn't been doing the best lately. Our newest is Ace Markham, who is looking to be a picture of health. He will be my mentor this year.

When the mayor finishes, he takes a seat beside the victors and lets our district escort from the Capitol, Alla Vret, take the stage. She's been our district's escort for quite some time. I forget how long though, I never really bothered to learn. To me, all she is is the annoying gaudy creature who's getting us to places on time. She is upbeat and excited today. Reaping day is something to look forward to here in our district, but she takes it to an all-new high. Her dress looks like it's made of notebook paper with blue lines, and surround it appears to be a giant bowl. On top of her blue hair is a fishbowl. Her skin has had alternation done on it. It's completely dyed and tattooed blue-green, and the skin has a scaly texture to it. It looks like with the latest trend in the Capitol, you aren't considered fashionable unless you look like a giant human/fish cross climbing out of a bowl. I just shake my head in disbelief and roll my eyes.

Finally, she gets around to the actual reaping. She walks over to one of the bowls that's set on a table. The bowl is filled with names for possible tributes. I begin to wonder if Lila Callbrooke's name will be called. If she is, a backup will have to be sent in. Her name isn't called though; instead, it's a Samantha or Sierra Dome, or whatever her name is. In minutes, Lila is up on the stage with confidence emanating from her face. However, it takes her a few seconds for her to respond when Alla asks what her name is. It makes me chuckle to myself, and I can't help but smirk. She honestly thinks she's going to win the Games? Please. I've seen her train. She's good, but not as good as I. If I got my hands on her, I'd be able to snap her neck without effort. And if I had a sword, I'd be able to take her down without even breaking a sweat.

Alla Vret has moved on to choosing the boy for this year. For a few seconds, I feel my breath catch. I quickly let it out, though. What am I worried about? It's not going to be me. It's going to be some unlucky sap who will be thanking me for taking his place in the arena.

Sure enough, I'm right, as the boy's name is called. "Cyrus Paxter!"

Cyrus is an average kid with brown hair and slightly tanned skin. I think I've seen him once or twice. He is fourteen years old and training to be a Career. The fact that his name has been called must have scared him at first. I put out his fear within seconds as I shout, "I volunteer!" I then make my way through the crowd and up to the stage. Everyone gets out of the way. Those who don't get pushed out of the way by me or by their friends.

When I'm up on the stage, I smile triumphantly towards the crowd. The cameras are looking straight at me, and I make sure to smile in their direction as well. Alla is about to ask who my name is, but I beat her to it. "My name is Dominic Parraldi." I pause for a moment to let my name sink in. I hear some of the girls scream in delight when they hear my name. (More than likely, girls who can only dream of having me.) I see the people who were once my competition cast me hateful glares. Everyone is silent. "And listen up, Two!" I shout. "You are looking at the victor for this year's Hunger Games!" The whole crowd roars with cheer. For a moment I bask there, enjoying the excited shouts coming from the crowd.

The moment passes after about a half a minute. In a gesture of good sportsmanship, Alla tells Lila and I we have to shake hands. We do, but I doubt she's really there. Well, I mean she's there, but her mind is somewhere else. That's not going to be good. If she keeps doing that, she's going to be killed pretty fast. Who knows, probably by me. (She better hope, it'd be embarrassing for her and her family if a tribute from the lower districts killed her.)

The next thing I know, we're being led into the Justice Building, where we will be saying goodbye to our loved ones. And soon, we'll be on our way to the Capitol.

The room in the Justice Building I'm taken to is well furnished. There's a black sofa resting against the wall. I test it with my hand and find that the cushions are firm but soft. Across from the sofa is a chair that is both the same color and made of the same material. The rug that covers the whole floor in this room is a light, creamy brown color. Almost like hot chocolate, except maybe a little lighter in shade.

I don't have to wait very long before the first of my loved ones come to see me. I am surprised, though, that the first ones to see me are my mother and father. What's even more surprising is that they're in the same room. My actual birthfather is in the same room with my mother. It's amazing the place hasn't exploded yet. I actually can't even feel the tension in the air that there normally is whenever they are together. Perhaps they are putting it aside for my benefit. I want to laugh. Do they honestly think they use these moments to seal over fourteen years of hell they put me through?

Instead of laughing, though, I find myself caught in the embrace of my mother. She's a thin woman with straight dark hair and brown eyes. Her skin is a light shade of olive, just like my skin. For a moment, I just stand there. I can't remember the last time my mother actually hugged me. I think it was after I turned six years old, the day the divorce was finalized. I was crying that day, and she came up to me and hugged me close to her, calling me her baby boy and apologizing profusely for every ounce of nightmare that had been my life. Promising me that things would be better, and that everything would be fine.

Funny. Maybe it did for her. But it sure as heck doesn't seem like it got better for me. Being ignored except for when it comes to your Career training doesn't exactly spell out 'I love you'.

My mother pulls away. The loving warmth I felt coming from her starts to flow away. I want to gather it. I want to capture it all and put it in a box for me to keep forever. So that I can always remember that feeling. But it's not possible. I hate to admit it, but I feel like a little kid who wants something he can never have or keep. I've seen those kids when I walked home from the academy. They would always stare at windows and plead for their moms to buy them a new bicycle or some toy, but their parents tell them that today wasn't the day. Funny how that makes a pretty accurate comparison to my own longing.

I have to pull myself out of my thoughts when I hear my mother say, "You're going to make me so proud, Dominic."

"You're going to make us both proud," my father adds, clearly not liking the fact that his ex-wife had not included him in that comment.

I look at my father. Sometimes when we stand together, people point out how alike we are in appearance. My hair is trimmed and short, like his is; his skin is olive-colored, but it's darker than mine or my mother's; the same chiseled features; the same dark blue eyes. We even have similar body builds. Tall and muscular, coming from years of training. Once, he had trained for the Hunger Games too. He never got his chance though. Apparently, he and my mom had me when they were both eighteen. While they said they never regretted it, I know that they must have ruined any chances of ever going into the arena. Now that I think about it, I guess I can understand why they've been pushing me to do my best and focusing on my training. That doesn't change the fact that I'm still angry with them, though.

"Be sure you watch out for that Lila Callbrooke," my mother says. "She may seem average, but I bet there's more to her than meets the eye. Don't let her fool you."

"Don't worry," I say confidently. "I'll be able to take her."

"Make sure you watch your back," my father adds. "You're from District Two, so you'll be expected to ally with the other Careers. Remember not to get too attached to them. In the end, they must all die if you are to win. Don't let their relationships with you blind you to what this is truly about."

I nod. "This about the glory and honor." That sounds more hollow than what it used to be. And I get a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach, which I make an effort to hide. What's weird is, I don't even know why I'm feeling ill.

A Peacekeeper opens the door and tells my parents their time is up. To my surprise, my mother hugs me again. This time I try and lock the warmth in that hug in my memory. She kisses me on the cheek and wishes me good luck. Then she heads out the door. My father pats me on the back and smiles. "The odds are in your favor, Son, I know it." Then he hugs me too, pulling him close to me and nearly constricting me. The man still has the strength of the bear despite being thirty-some years old. "Make me proud."

"I will," I answer.

Then he leaves as well. For a few moments I stand there, for the first time feeling content. My parents actually showed that they cared about me, and not just me in Career training.

I'm discontented, though, as my stepfather walks in. I want to yell at the Peacekeeper and tell him to throw him out of here. Even despite my good mood, I'm not willing to forgive anyone just yet. Especially my stepfather. For a moment, he just stands there. He always seems to have this ability to tell just by walking in a room what kind of mood everybody is in. Don't ask me, he just does. I decide to not even look at him. Instead, I walk over to the chair and sit down. Focusing my eyes on the wall across the room.

We spend about a minute in silence. Finally, my stepfather walks up to me and places an object on the arm of the chair next to my hand. "There's your token," he says gently.

"Why should I accept anything from you?" I growl. My eyes can't help but glance at thing he placed next to my hand though. My eyes widened in shock. It's a silver-link chain necklace. Dangling from it is a ring.

He shrugs. "You don't have to. I just figured that like most tributes, you would want one."

I pick up the necklace and examine it. The ring is made of silver, as well. Finely crafted. Likely something that was made in District 1 - they have machines there that fashion jewelry and other luxuries. I hold the necklace in a clenched fist. Feeling anger flowing through me. "Why are you giving me a token? Why didn't my parents?"

"They knew I would want to give you this."

My frown becomes sharper. I feel my eyebrows rise up and my nostrils flare. I think I can feel my eyes dancing like fire. Through clenched teeth, I say, "So you think that you giving me a token is going to win you any favors? Do you?" I rise from my seat and walk over to the wall and punch it violently. He does nothing to stop me. Just watches. Turning from the wall and towards him, I say, "You honestly think you can get on my good side by giving me this!" I dangle the necklace in my hands and hold it out towards him. "You know what?" I say. "I can't believe you. I don't even get you. Why do you try and be nice to me? I've hated your guts from the moment you first walked into my life."

"I know," he says.

"I've ignored you with every opportunity I could get."

"I know."

"I've even blamed you for my parents' divorce. Despite the fact that I knew it wasn't even your fault!" That last part surprises me. Did I just say that? How could I? It was his fault that my parents divorced. My mom liked him better than my dad, and she left. He's the reason my life has been miserable.

"I know."

I don't know what to say. I'm speechless. For a moment I stand there, not knowing what to say or do. He stands there silently. Waiting for me to speak.

When I find my voice, I say, "Why?"

Slowly he walks up to me. He places his hands on my shoulders. Instinctively I struggle, but he holds me with a firm grip. He's not going to let me go now that he has me. "Because whether you like it or not, Dominic, you and I are family. We may not be related by blood, but I'm your stepfather." He pauses and searches my eyes for a sign of emotion. I don't show any. Being trained as a Career has taught me to never appear weak, even when you do feel like it. And that's how I'm feeling right now. Weak. Right now, I feel completely at the mercy of my stepfather. Not because I'm afraid he's going to hurt me. No, I feel that way because I am at his complete mercy. We don't like to show it, but us Careers fear good people. They are the only ones that stand a chance against us. No matter how many times we may hammer them and kick them while they're down, they always manage to get back up again. That's why we like to ally together. Get rid of them so that there's no chance for anyone like them to rise above us.

He continues speaking to me, and I try to meet his gaze, to keep myself from feeling weak. I don't think I'm being successful, though. "I am not your father, Dominic. I was never trying to replace him. I know that nobody can replace him. Heck, why would I? Why would I try to take away something like that? I'm being nice to you because I consider you a part of my family. I love your mother, and I love you too. Even through all the torture you put me through by disobeying me." He smiles. "I know you hate me, Dominic. I know you blame me for your parents' divorce. That is not my fault, though. I didn't even know your mom until after she had divorced your dad. And I tried like hell to show them the pain you went through." He pauses and thinks about what he's going to say next. "I'm sorry. I've done nothing wrong here. But I apologize anyway. I'm sorry, Dominic." I feel his voice start to falter, and is it just me, or are those tears starting to form in his eyes? "I'm sorry for everything."

Everything inside me wants to still hate him. Almost everything. Believe it or not, Careers have hearts too. We just be sure to hide the fact that we do. You don't go around winning the Hunger Games by being nice. And as I look at this man, the one who I've been loathing all my life, I suddenly feel my heart being cleansed of the hatred. I guess it's because I now realize just how much of an ass I've been. It makes me feel guilty. It shouldn't be him that's apologizing. He's done nothing wrong in this situation.

It should be me.

Just as I'm about to, though, the Peacekeeper opens the door and tells my stepfather it's time to leave. The next thing I know, my stepfather is hugging me. And before I realize it, I am hugging him back. The hug lasts for a few moments. Then my stepfather pulls away when the Peacekeeper commands him to hurry up. For a moment he captures me in his eyes. "Good luck, Dominic," he says. He clenches my hand that holds the necklace. "Come back soon, alright? I'm actually going to miss you disobeying me."

And with that, he's out the door.

I only have one other person come to see me. My best friend, Sage Baker. "Hey," she says in greeting to me.

"Hey," I say, shaking myself out of the daze that my stepfather left me in.

She catches the fact that my tone isn't as excited as it should be. "What's wrong?" she asks. "Just this morning you were excited. You don't look it anymore."

I shake my head. "Nothing, I'll be fine." I notice out of all my friends she's the only one who came. "Where are the others?"

"They wanted to come. But the Peacekeepers would only let me pass. Apparently, they want to get you and Lila out of here as soon as possible. Must be some sort of District Two thing or something." She rolls her eyes. "Figures," she says. "Got to live up to expectations like that."

"Yeah, I guess."

She looks down at my hand. "I see you have a token."

"Yeah, my stepfather gave it to me."

She looks at me with surprise. "And you accepted it?"

I shrug. "There wasn't really any choice."

"Any clue what it means?"

"He never explained." I look at the necklace with the ring around it. It's definitely not the wedding ring my stepfather wore. I look at it closer. When I do, I realize what it is. It's his class ring! My stepfather went through Career training like many other boys in our district. This was the ring he wore on his other ring finger.

Sage catches the glint of recognition in my eyes, and asks me what. I explain. "Wow," she says in surprise. "He trusts you with that, even after you were all nasty to him? Dang, he must really care about you."

"Yeah," I say, feeling the reluctance shift back into me. I trace the cold and hard edges of the ring with my pointer finger, focusing on it so I don't have to look Sage in the eye. "Yeah, he does."

Sage understands that I really don't want to talk about this. Especially because these are the last moments we will have before the Games. When I look at her, I can't help but feel a slight nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. For the first time, I truly begin to think about the possibility that I may die. Unconsciously, it has crossed my mind numerous times, but I just pushed them out. You don't become top of the class if you have doubts about yourself. Now though. I can feel that doubt coming up. What if I do die? I'll never see Sage or any of my other friends again.

She catches the expression on my face. "Hey!" she exclaims. "Don't you even think about it."

I laugh despite the slight worry still fluttering around in me. "Don't worry, I'm not."

"Good," she says. "'Cause no matter what, you're coming out of that arena alive. If you don't, I'll kill you." She pauses for a few seconds, realizing that that doesn't make much sense. "I mean, I'll kill you again if you don't."

I chuckle. "I won't."

We both realize that our time must be up pretty soon. Quickly, Sage hugs me. Believe it or not, despite the fact she must only weigh one hundred thirty pounds, she's strong. Really strong. She took down four girls who were in the same year as us. She's the only one who ever really scared me. I'm glad she isn't going to the arena. Though I kind of wish she was; we could watch each other's backs during the Games until we were in the final two. Ah well, do with what you got. "May the odds be in your favor," she says to me.

"They already are," I say.

Sure enough, the Peacekeeper opens the door and tells us our time is up. Sage lets go, and gives me a proud smile. "See you when you come back," she says.

"Yep."

She walks over to the door. But then she stops at the doorway suddenly, as if she forgot something. She turns and says, "One more thing, Dominic."

"What?"

A smile spreads across her face, and she lets out a light chuckle. "Try not to have too much fun."

I smile, automatically getting her meaning. "Don't worry," I say. "I'll try not to."

It doesn't take long after Sage leaves before the Peacekeepers escort Lila and I to the train that will take us to the Capitol. The train station isn't far away from the Justice Building, so it doesn't take that long of a walk. Only five minutes. But those five minutes can feel like an eternity when you have Capitolites swarming around you like insects. Still, I make an effort to make it seem like I enjoy attention. (Which isn't too hard, because I do.) I wave to the crowd and smile. From the corner of my eye, I watch Lila just try to avoid the cameras. She's all Games now. I even chuckle as she snarls at a Capitol man when he tries to snap her picture.

"Not going to win any sponsors that way," I warn her through the side of my mouth. I'm attempting to keep my eyes on the crowd.

She growls a reply, which I think is something along the lines of "shut up". But the Capitolites are roaring with delight so much I can barely hear her.

The train is waiting for us. This is not one of the ordinary trains that ships off stone, though. Nor is it like the one that transports the Peacekeepers to be spread out across Panem. No, this one is a genuine Capitol train. Ones that the Capitolites would use if they were going somewhere. Complete with compartments dedicated just for dining, and attendants to help us with whatever we wished. One attendant offers to help me on the train, but I don't take it. I don't need any attendant's help. Before climbing onto the train, though, I turn to the crowd and strike a pose for them, flexing my arms, tilting my head upward and flashing a grin. They all scream in delight and amazement. The women especially seem to faint at the sight of my pose. Just from the corner of my eye, I see Lila roll her eyes. A chuckle rises from me as I let go of my pose and wave goodbye to the crowd that has gathered. As she and I make our way through the car, I say, "Don't think you can top that, can you?"

Again, she rolls my eyes at me. "You better watch it," she says in a warning tone. "Arrogance gets you killed."

My smile broadens. "Come on, short stuff," I say.

"Don't ever call me 'short stuff'," she snarls viciously, baring her teeth. I find myself chuckling, which only manages to piss her off more. "Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Stop laughing at me."

"There's a difference between laughing and chuckling."

"Whatever, just quit it." She turns her back on me and walks over to one of the chairs that's set in the middle of the compartment.

I shrug. "Fine, whatever you say, sweet thing."

That makes her jump. Inwardly I'm now laughing my head off. This girl clearly doesn't know how to handle me. One minute I'm making fun of her short size, the next minute I'm flirting with her. That will be enough to get any girl's head spinning. It's lots of fun too. I do it to other girls I flirt with. It's funny because it sends them into this turmoil thing. At first they may hate it. But then they like the fact that I'm giving them attention, especially because the attention is being directed in that way. They'll hate me for it. Then when I continue, it just makes them long for me. And then next thing you know they're trapped and stuck with me until I'm done with them.

"What did you just call me?" Lila asks.

"Sweet thing," I answer. Shrugging my shoulders indifferently, but also showing the slight signs of a grin. "I have other names for you too. Want to hear them?"

She grits her teeth. "I'd rather not, thank you very much."

My eyes widen in mock confusion. "What?" I ask in fake disbelief. "Don't you want to know how you make my world spin?"

"Oh, it'll be spinning when I finish knocking you upside the head."

I grin deviously. "Ooh, vicious, aren't we? I like it." I move in closer to her. I want to break out laughing because she's looking at me with so much confusion and disbelief that she doesn't know what to do. "I like vicious," I continue. "They're the ones who are the most fun."

"Most fun?" she asks. "What do you...?" She suddenly comes to the realization. "Oh, God," she says. "You got to be kidding me!"

I shrug. "Seriously," I say. "It's the vicious ones you always have the most fun with. It provides a challenge, and it makes things interesting. So should I put you down as a maybe?"

She walks up to me and points a finger at my chest. "You listen here," she growls. "I'm here to win the Games. I'm not here to have fun. Especially that kind of fun. Okay? So, aren't you?"

"Nothing wrong with a little fun along the way," I reply.

This irks her even more. I can tell she wants to strangle me. For a moment, I'm slightly uncertain. Perhaps I'd better stop right now. I don't want her to get too angry. She is my competition in the arena, after all. I still think I can take her on. But perhaps I better play things down a little.

"Just stay away from me tonight," she warns. "And you won't have your throat ripped out."

When she says that, I can't help but make one more remark. "So should I put you down as a maybe?"

With that, she storms away. And I can't help but break out in laughter. I know I've pissed her off. But she'll get it over it. After all, we're allies, she's going to have to wait until we're far in the Games before she decides to turn on me. When she does, I'll be ready.

And besides, I have a feeling she'll come around.


	3. District Three Reapings

**Always' A/N: **Welcome to the best district of all! No offense to the other districts.

We are excited to give to you…the reapings of District 3!

* * *

**Erin Flight, 16 ~ District 3 Female**

**AlwaysHasAPlan**

I woke with sweat all over my thin frame. I was an only child, and so I would never have the comfort of siblings on reaping day. I mean, sure, I had Siennia, but it wasn't really the same. Siennia and I would hug each other, comfort each other, because it was our worst nightmare to be reaped to participate in the Hunger Games.

It was six in the morning, so I had half an hour to get ready before going to meet Siennia. I looked in the mirror at myself. I was willowy, with straight, pure black hair that went to mid-back, and stunning emerald eyes. I picked my best dress, a purple one with a blue satin sash. I hurriedly brushed my hair before looking at my room one last time, just in case.

I walked down the stairs to my kitchen, where I assumed my mother was waiting. I was right. She was.

'Mom,' I said, 'the reapings are this morning.'

'That's nice, darling,' said my mother, entranced by the computer in front of her.

See, I guess I should explain. The easiest way to do that would be to say that basically my family was part of the 'merchant' class of District 3. Only, we didn't sell anything. We programmed, or coded, the computers and machines that District 3 produced. Normally, you had to be thirty to start programming, but I started at fifteen for some reason. But hey, I wasn't complaining. Just meant more money for my family.

Finally, my mother looked up and realized what I said.

'Oh, Erin, darling, I'm so sorry. Good luck, sweetie.' She reached over and gave me a big hug, and it felt like she was pouring all her love for me into it. 'Now, sweetie, for breakfast I have your favourite: acorn pancakes with a little bit of honey! Your father will be down in a bit.'

I sighed. My father was never there in the mornings, except on reaping day. All of a sudden, arms wrapped around me and lifted me up.

'Dad,' I shouted, 'put me down!'

He didn't listen.

'Now, now, NOW!'

He finally put me down.

'Yay, now I can finally eat my acorn pancakes!' I did the happy dance.

Dad chuckled and Mom just sighed, used to my antics. We sat down and feasted on delicious acorn pancakes until our bellies were about to burst. I gave them a hug and kiss each, and said:

'See you, Mom. See you, Dad.'

'See you after the reaping, Princess,' Dad said.

'Yes, see you after the reaping, Erin,' said my mother, already entranced in her coding again.

'See you after the reaping,' I repeated.

Wherever that may be, I thought grimly.

My dad looked up and smiled at me, and my mother looked up distractedly and blew me a kiss.

I put my coat on and then remembered it was reaping day, so I took off my coat, and then walked out the door.

I walked slowly, taking in the sights of my district. I spotted Siennia's house, and the arrogant classmate of mine who skipped a year, but I can't recall his name. Well, at least I think he's arrogant. Anyway, I saw his house too.

Finally, I arrived at the town square, however much I did not want to be there.

I looked around, but couldn't find her.

'Erin, over here,' shouted Siennia.

I took a look at my adorable best friend. She was wearing a red dress with purple stripes that really accented her blond hair and blue eyes.

'Siennia, I want to go to our place one more time, instead of going to your house,' I ask. 'Can we?'

'Oh, Erin,' Siennia cried, 'I thought you would never ask!'

So we walked to the music factory, and, while listening to the music that enveloped the entire area, sought out the little abandoned hut that no one ever used. Well, except for us, Siennia and me.

I took a look around the inside of the hut that had been my safe haven since I was twelve and eligible for the reaping. My one saving grace was that I had never had to take tesserae, so I only had four slips in.

The walls of the hut were brown, and there was a worn coffee table across from the door. A carpet that was originally white, now brownish-greyish from dirt and dust. I sank into the plush brown carpet, Siennia sitting with me.

I cried into Siennia's shoulder, and said, 'What did we do? Why is it us that need to die, and not them? I'm so scared, Nia, I'm so scared.'

'Shhh, Eri', shhh, calm down. We're sixteen, we don't have any tesserae. We will be fine, I promise,' Siennia reassured me.

She said a lot of similar things, but honestly, I didn't hear most of them in my worry, as foolish as I knew it was. I would never ever be picked.

We sat like that until nine, then we had to check in at the town square. I always had been more afraid of the Hunger Games than Siennia. It was a fact.

Siennia and I walked in silence, passing my house (which my puffy eyes just puffed up even more at), her house, and by the time we passed that classmate's house who I thought was arrogant, I was nearly calmed down.

When the town square came into sight, I squared my shoulders and held Siennia's hand until we were nearly there.

'Give me your hand, miss,' said a burly Peacekeeper.

I held out my hand and felt him prick it like always. He waved me and Siennia through, and we went to the sixteen-year-old section.

We waited, holding each others' hand and hoping against hope that we would be safe.

'Hello, District Three!' said our escort, Candy Apple. 'Are we excited or what?'

Everyone gave a fake cheer.

'Good, because now your mayor is going to show you the video of why the Hunger Games began.'

The video talked about the Dark Days, and how the Capitol was merciful, only asking for two teenagers every year from each district in payment. How our past victors returned to us had been a gift, blah, blah, blah, who cares?

When the video finally finished, Candy crossed to the girls' bowl and said:

'And this year's lucky female tribute is-' Everyone held their breath nervously. 'Erin Flight!'

I only realized what she said when Siennia started crying, and sobbed, 'Erin, she said your name.'

I gasped and headed up onto the stage, shock seeping inside my very bones.

'Do we have any volunteers?' asked Candy. No one replied.

Candy crossed to the boys' bowl and said, 'Ravi…'

I stopped listening.

'I volunteer,' said a voice.

Great, I thought. Now he's twice as likely to kill me.

A boy with curly blond hair, who I recognized from class, headed to the stage. Hey, he was that boy who I thought was arrogant.

'Name?' said Candy.

'Agustis Hurlen,' he replied.

'District Three, I present to you your tributes - Erin Flight and Agustis Hurlen!' Candy gestured for us to shake hands. I did so numbly. 'Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!'

Another Peacekeeper led me inside the Justice Building, to a plush room.

The room was the most comfortable I have ever seen in my life. The carpet was deep red, and there were several cream couches spread around. There was a beautiful window that overlooked the town square.

After waiting a while, my mom and dad rushed into the room.

'Oh, Erin,' sobbed my mother. 'I love you so, so much.'

'I love you, too,' I said. 'I'm scared, Mommy, Daddy. I don't want to go to the Hunger Games.'

'Shh, Erin. Calm down, my princess,' reassured my father, while crying himself. 'You will come back to us, and we will love you just as much.'

My parents told me how much they loved me, over and over, and held me for what I knew would be the last time.

A Peacekeeper entered, and said, 'Leave now.'

My mother pleaded for more time, whilst my father dragged her out the door.

It was a little while longer before my next visitor entered. As soon as that blonde missile hit me, I knew it was Siennia.

'Eri,' Siennia cried, 'come back to me. Please, God, Eri, come back to me.'

I started crying. 'I love you, Nia, you are the twin sister I never had. In case I don't come back, never forget me, please,' I sobbed desperately. 'Please, Nia, please.'

Siennia pushed a bracelet into my hand. 'It was supposed to be your birthday present. Keep it for me, use it as your token.' She sobbed brokenly.

I examined the bracelet. It was purple and blue, with little fake diamonds woven in.

'I love it, Nia. But if I don't come back, don't beat yourself up over it,' I said.

For the rest of those precious five minutes, we hugged and took comfort in being with each other.

A Peacekeeper entered. Siennia refused to leave, and clung to me even tighter.

'Eri, I love you,' she sobbed frantically, as the Peacekeeper pried her off me.

'Nia, I love' - the door slammed shut - 'you, too,' I finished.

I curled up and cried for the rest of the visiting hour, until my face was red and puffy.

'Erin, darling, it's time to go,' chirped Candy brightly. As soon as she saw my face, she said, 'Don't worry - even if you do die, your sacrifice will not be in vain. The Capitol will at least get some entertainment.'

She passed out the door without a second glance.

Just before I followed her, I muttered, 'Air-headed twit.'

I walked, surrounded by Peacekeepers, to the train station. I looked greedily at everything and everyone I could. Trying to absorb my home district. The Peacekeepers loaded me onto the train, and I numbly stared out the window, looking towards my home district for as long as I could, till it passed out of view. I was sure I had seen it for the last time.

I walked to the room that had 'Erin Flight' carved on a gold plate fashioned to the door. I opened the door, and gasped.

The room was twice as big as mine, at least, and that's saying something, because my family isn't exactly poor. Then again, we never get everything we want. But, the important thing is, we never go hungry.

There was a huge king-size bed with light violet sheets and the fluffiest pillows I have ever seen. The floor was plush cream carpet, and did it feel good against my bare feet. A walk-in closet was behind one door.

And behind the other, a huge bathroom with a shower with weird buttons, a bathtub (yes, a real bathtub), and a sink. The best thing of all? I could have as much hot water as I wanted!

I got a nice, long hot shower for the first time in, well, forever, and put on a plush bathrobe. I then went over to the bed that looked oh-so-inviting, lay down, and tried to go to sleep.

Nothing worked, so - eventually - I just cried myself to sleep, and thought, Who cares about dinner?

'Oh, God, Siennia, I am going to miss you so much.'

* * *

A/N: I'd like to thank Dances With Vampires for helping me with this reaping, and John 'Doc' Holiday, wjjmwmsn5, hiilikepie1937462, everyone who read and reviewed it before it was published. So, without further ado…

**Agustis Hurlen, 15 ~ District 3 Male**

**geekysmartnerd**

The rosy fingers of dawn force their way through the smog-filled air, as I stop my ascension to watch through a dust-coated window. The colorful sky contrasts greatly against the many shades of grey District 3 consists of.

"Hey, what's the hold-up? This is taking too long." The complaint comes from below me. It's Mercury Wattson, or 'Merc', for short. He's one of my best friends. His easygoing nature makes it hard for him to complain, but since I took away his oh-so-precious beauty sleep, he's complaining.

"Gus, I am going to hack off those golden curls of yours if you don't move your butt right now!" That is Ravik Nambikrishnan; we just call him Ravi, and he's my other best friend. His threats don't carry much weight normally, but since he actually did cut off my hair once, I'm not going to idle.

I smirk (not like anyone's going to see it), and sigh as I ascend the narrow flight of stairs. "My hair's blonde, not golden. The people in the Capitol have golden hair if they dye it; I have blonde hair because it's natural." Yup, it is natural: I got it from my mom, she's a natural blond too. Mom and I stick out like a sore-thumb in District 3, where people are dark-haired. I have blue eyes and freckles to go along with it. Oh, and not to mention I'm short, all courtesy of Mom and her wonderful genes.

Finally, we climb through a cramped doorway. The rooftop of an abandoned factory isn't exactly the ideal place for hanging out; after all, it's decades-old, dusty, and at risk of spontaneous destruction, also known as caving in. But it's too high up for prying eyes, especially those of Peacekeepers, and no one comes here. Except, of course, Ravi, Merc, and I.

We take a seat at our customary spot: the edge of the roof. We sit in silence as we either stare at the colorful sky (me), look down at the District Square (Ravi), or fiddle with a Rubik's Cube (Merc).

"So tell us why you really dragged us here," Merc says, not once looking up from his Cube.

"Yeah, and why'd you have to wake us up at the crack of dawn too?" Ravi demands.

When I don't answer right away, Ravi fixes me with an intense stare. The thick, black-rimmed glasses he's forced to wear don't help. Finally, I cave in. . .not literally.

"Well, I just want to hang out with you guys before the Reaping starts."

"Yeah, right." Ravi immediately shoots down my answer. Merc bobs his head up and down in agreement.

Apparently, they know me too well. I sigh, and stare at the sun's steady climb over the horizon. It does make sense; if I really wanted to hang out with them before the Reaping, it wouldn't be so early. I guess that's the downside of having extremely intelligent friends.

"You're worried about the Reaping, aren't you?" Merc guesses.

I explode. "There's three hundred sixty-four days in a year. That means I have been living in constant fear for one thousand, four hundred, and forty days that I will be Reaped! Not counting Leap Years! The prospect of being Reaped is with me almost every minute of every freaking day!"

Ravi punches my arm before I can wake up the whole District with my ranting. "Stop being so self-absorbed," he chides. "You think we forget about that? There are other people living in fear too, you know."

"Yeah, that's why I'm always doing this all the time," Merc said, lifting the Rubik's Cube slightly.

I sigh and stare at the rising sun once more. "You're right. Sorry, guys."

"No, it's fine, that's what friends are for," Merc says mildly. Ravi grunts in agreement.

I smile slightly. "Thanks for understanding."

We sit in silence for who knows how long before Ravi stands up. "I think we should go home before our parents know we're gone."

We climb out of the factory, and we're about to part ways when Merc stops us. "Wait, I need to give you guys something." He puts his Rubik's Cube in this drawstring bag that he carries around, and fishes out two parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. "Here, these are for you to keep."

"Uh, thank you?" I frown at the parcel. It can't weigh more than four pounds. Curious, I begin to pull at the string.

Merc slaps my hand. "No, don't!"

"Why not?" Ravi demands.

"It's obviously going to explode, Ravi," I say sarcastically. "After all, it has the exact weight of an explosive."

Merc raises an eyebrow at me. I return the favor. "Just don't open it until you are preparing for the Reaping, okay?"

Ravi shrugs his bone-thin shoulders. "Sure, whatever." He turns to leave, but stops. "Are we going to meet at our usual spot?"

"Yes," Merc replies.

"Ravi, we're going to be meeting at the stage where the escort is," I say, sarcastic as always.

"You know what, Gus?" Ravi flips the finger, and then walks off.

"Your sarcasm will get you nowhere, Gus," Merc warns before walking off, waving a goodbye over his shoulder.

I smile at the receding backs of my friends, before heading home.

My home isn't very big. Well, it's huge compared to other homes in the poorer area of the District. It's a one-story house that allows me to sneak in and out quite easily.

I climb through my bedroom window, and immediately collapse on my bed and fall asleep.

Someone shakes me awake. "Leave me alone, Mom," I complain.

Laughter. "I'm not Mom, I'm Celsun."

I crack open a blue eye to see the black hair and grey eyes of my twenty-two-year-old sister. "Oh, hey, Cel'. Now could you kindly go away?"

"Aww, I came all this way and you rebuff me? I'm hurt, Gussy." Cel ruffles my hair, showing that she really isn't.

I swat away her hand and cover my head with my pillow. In response, Cel scoops me out of bed and carries me to the bathroom like a sack of potatoes, and dumps me on the floor.

"You better get ready for the Reaping," Cel said, "I know how much you hate them and love sleeping in, but you gotta' do it." With that, she closes the bathroom door.

Typical Cel, I should've seen it coming. Whenever she comes over from her place (she's married), she always wakes me up and then carries me to the bathroom, and I hate it.

Anyways, I get up and do my morning routine. Done. I go back to my room after peeking into my other sister's room, Fahres. Cel is trying to drag Fahres out of bed, but she's a lot bigger than I and Cel is unsuccessful.

Cel and Fahres could pass as twins, even though Fahres is two years younger; they stand at the same height, same long black hair and grey eyes, and skinny. Well, everyone's skinny in District 3, maybe except the mayor and his family. However, personality-wise, Cel is all rainbows and sunshine and cute kittens, while Fahres is more grey skies and rain clouds and dead puppies.

I shake my head and grin at the spectacle before heading to my room. Putting on the clothes Mom laid out for me the night before (a white shirt tucked into black slacks and socks; my shoes are on the shoe rack by the front door), I finally open the parcel to reveal. . .a tie. . .?

Really? Of all things, a tie? There's got to be a catch to this. I turn it over several times in my hands and examine every inch. Well, it's not bad-looking: it's black with small blue stripes, and feels real enough. I shake it for good measure. Merc didn't leave a note telling me what to do with it, and he did say to only open it when I'm preparing for the Reaping, so he must be telling me to wear it. . .but why?

Whatever, I'll wear it. It's a nice tie, and I shouldn't put nice gifts to waste. I mean, what else am I going to do with it? Strangle myself?

I race down the stairs two at a time for breakfast, hug my family (my dad compliments the tie), run out the door (after putting on my shoes) to meet up with my friends, only to see that they are. . .wearing the same thing I am?

Ravi doesn't look too happy (he never does on Reaping Day), but Merc is beside himself with laughter.

"It's not funny," Ravi grumbles, and (unsuccessfully) tries to kick Merc's shin.

"You guys are so predictable!" Merc says between laughter. "I couldn't help it!"

Ravi scowls. I'm not too happy either.

"We're gonna' look like triplets," I point out.

"Agustis Hurlen, genius of the day," Ravi gripes.

"No, I think it should be Mercury Wattson, genius of the week," Merc says, wiping away tears of joy with his tie. "And, Gus, we can't possibly look like triplets." He points at Ravi. "Your skin is a lot darker than the normal, default ashen skin of a District Three person, although you do have curly black hair." Ravi's scowl only deepens. "You" - he points at me - "are shorter than the average male-"

"Gee, thanks for pointing that out."

"Plus, you look like a District Two person." I give him the evil eye. "And I look normal."

"Whatever," Ravi says rudely, "let's just go and get this over with." We head in the direction of the District Square.

"You know, I only did this to cheer you guys up, it was supposed to be a joke."

Ravi kicks a pebble. "And look what it did."

"On the bright side, Glasses Geek," I say; Ravi punches me, "we've got this sweet tie. Thanks, Merc."

"No prob'."

We sign in and take our places. Mine's in the fifteen-year-olds, and the others in the sixteen-year-olds.

"Hello, District Three!" District 3's escort walks onto the stage, teetering on six-inch heels. "Are we excited today or what?" Cue in fake cheer from the crowd.

Candied apples gleam in her elaborate hairdo as she smiles down at us with a heavily-lipsticked face. I wonder if the apples in her hair are edible, but even if they are, I won't be eating them.

"My name's Candy Apple." Oh, so that's why she has apples in her hair. "And I shall be this year's escort," she says in her queer Capitol accent. She continues to drone on and on, and then the District Mayor shows us the video about the Hunger Games that I memorized when I was eight, when I had to watch in anticipation for my sisters.

Bored, I turn to wave at my family and my friends' families. I then look over to where my friends are. Merc is solving his Rubik's Cube for the billionth time, his wavy black hair slick with sweat. Ravi is fidgeting with his glasses, something he only does when he's extremely nervous.

I don't show it, but I'm extremely nervous too, although I really don't need to be; after all, Dad has a decent job working as a manager in this factory that produces machines, and the whole Hurlen family works there too (my job is to fix the machines that make machines), and I only had to sign up for tesserae once. Merc twice. Ravi, however, had to do so plenty of times. So I really shouldn't be worrying about myself, but about Ravi.

My train of thought is interrupted.

"And this year's lucky female tribute is-" The escort, Candy Apple, slowly unfolds the slip of paper, after teetering over to the bowl that contains multiple slips of female names. "Erin Flight," she finally announces.

A girl with long black hair and green eyes emerges from the sixteen-year-old section.

I smirk. "Bye-bye, Erin," I say under my breath.

Erin and I have a history of violence. Ever since I skipped a grade, we've been battling each other as to which of us will be top of our class. I'm proud to say I currently hold the crown; I grudgingly admit that we are almost equal in intellect. I don't know why we're enemies (although I am grateful for the rivalry), 'cuz Ravi and Merc are plenty smart too. I guess she just rubs me the wrong way.

"Now, time for the men." Candy reaches and grabs a slip from another bowl.

My palms start sweating. Ravi spins his glasses in his hands. Merc works furiously on his Rubik's Cube.

Candy takes her time in opening the slip, and squints at the name. "Ravik Nambikrishnan," she says slowly, mispronouncing almost every letter. Wait, Ravi's picked? I feel a cold chill up my spine as I look at one of my best friends - no, brother.

Ravi is frozen, his glasses in hand and mouth agape at the queer escort as if her words are the cause of his inability to move. A Peacekeeper nudges Ravi with a gun, which seems to restart him.

Merc is frozen as well, his hands still for once. Only his eyes move, and they follow Ravi's receding back. I'm doing the same thing, and I wonder if he - Merc - knows what I'm going to do, for he runs after me.

I prove to be the faster of the two and leap onto the stage, grab the mic, and say, "I volunteer."

"Gus, are you crazy?" Ravi demands.

"Gus, don't," Merc says, out of breath.

I ignore them both. "My name is Agustis Hurlen, and I volunteer for the Thirty-seventh Hunger Games."

A scream comes from the crowd of people as Erin and I shake hands, and are then ushered into the ironically-named Justice Building. I'll probably be named The District 3 Martyr in less than five minutes.

My family are the first to visit. Tears streaming down her face, Mom assaults me with a hug. "Oh, my son, my Agustis, why?" Why, indeed.

Next, my father. "We will be rooting for you."

I crack a smile. "Thanks, Dad."

"C'mere, you." Cel pulls me into a hug. "I - we - will be cheering you on. Always."

Fahres hugs me next. "Be careful out there; they already saw your weakness, and it'll be broadcast any minute now," she whispers in my ear. Oh, right, my weakness, it's gonna' be broadcast…great.

Mom kisses my forehead before they are ushered out. My friends soon replace them.

We stand in silence until. . ."That was stupid," Ravi deadpans. And then we all embrace. I know. Cheesy, right?

"Sorry I didn't bring you anything to bring to the Games," Ravi apologizes.

"It's fine, Ravi."

"Here, take my Rubik's Cube," Merc says. "Use it however you want. It isn't much, though."

I accept the gift without protesting. Nice gifts shouldn't go to waste, after all.

We embrace again. "Brothers for life?" I ask.

"Without a doubt," Ravi replies, a smile on his face for once, albeit a sad one.

"You guys are going to make me cry," Merc says, wiping away an imaginary tear - or was it?

They are ushered out of the room soon after, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a Rubik's Cube.

What have I done? I think, as I look out the window. Not only have I volunteered for my death, but Ravi will have to live with the thought that he killed me! And my family! Mom was beside herself with grief!

"It's time to go," a Peacekeeper says, coming into the room.

I nod numbly, look outside to commit the image - my home District - to memory, and follow the ironically-named Peacekeepers.

Walking to the train station, I notice Erin looking around District 3 one last time before getting into the high-tech train; I decide to do the same.

"In you go, dearie," the escort says. I comply.

The train takes off, and the surroundings muddle into a blur. Erin, a few seats away from me, is numbly looking at the passing foliage, probably thinking about the people she left behind.

Not wanting to reminisce on my actions, I go to another compartment of the train. I find a wide, flat-screen TV showing the beginning of the District 3 Reapings, and a young man - no, teenager - of eighteen. He jumps when I enter, and grabs a knife from a platter.

"Whoa." I hold up my empty hands. "I'm unarmed."

The teenager visibly relaxes. "Sorry about that," he says, putting down the knife, "it's just that…" He trails off.

"You won the Thirty-second Games and your name is Beetee, which makes you one the mentors." And mentally unstable, apparently. "I'm Agustis Hurlen."

"Yes, I am, and nice to meet you, Agustis." We shake hands. "Sorry again, by the way." Beetee's eyes trail off into the distance, and I realize that he has old eyes. They saw things a person his age shouldn't have seen; things that I will be seeing.

"Please, have a seat," he says, coming back to the present. We sit in silence, until one of the anchormen calls me the District 3 Martyr. A-ha, so my prediction was true.

"Huh, you must really care for this person," Beetee observes when they show my volunteering.

"Yeah, he's like a brother to me," I say quietly.

"Hnn. Well, I hope you don't like people in general, and are hard to get along with," he replies.

"I am that kind of person," I deadpan.

"Good, because that's not what you just showed everyone." He gets up. "Although, you're surprisingly civil to me."

"You're my mentor; I should be nice to you. After all, you're the one who gives me gifts in the Arena."

"Ah, good strategy. You should try faux-friendliness to the Capitol too, or at least charm them; they're the ones who buy the gifts, I just send it to you," Beetee says, smiling.

"I'll keep that in mind," I reply. Beetee nods, and leaves the compartment.

I take out Merc's Rubik's Cube and start solving it while watching the other District Reapings. This year's tributes look tough. They all look capable of doing something. I sigh; I guess I'll just have to outsmart them.

I'm on District 11's Reapings when a shadow falls over me. Freaked, I turn around and throw the Cube at the shadow, only to have it hit the escort's face.

There is a man behind Candy Apple, and he bursts out in laughter. Enraged, Candy Apple rounds on me. "Young man," she fumes, "what you did was-"

"Hilarious," the man says between tears, "absolutely hilarious! And not to mention good aim and great instincts." He continues laughing.

"No, it was not, Bolt!" Candy screeches. "It was rude and completely unacceptable!"

"What are you going to do about it?" the man, Bolt, challenges. "After all, you can't hurt this poor tribute; it's against the rules and 'completely unacceptable'." He mimics the Capitol accent on the last phrase.

Enraged, Candy spins on her six-inch heels, a feat I dare not do, and storms out. I go to retrieve the Rubik's Cube, wiping off the lipstick stain from it.

Still smirking, Bolt plops himself on a couch and studies me. In response, I study _him_.

Bolt Sullivan is the other mentor, and the first District 3 victor. He won the thirteenth Hunger Games when he was sixteen. He's currently forty, but he looks older.

Bolt finally speaks up. "You're that District Three Martyr, aren't you?"

"No, I'm the District Six Savior," I reply, my sarcasm returning.

Dinner passes in a blur. I eat delicious Capitol delicacies, but I would trade them for a regular District 3 meal any day.

I wander around, absently twisting the Cube this way and that, until I find the name 'AGUSTIS HURLEN' in big bold letters on a door. For fun, I rearrange the words so it says: 'A GUST HURLS INE', which doesn't make much sense, but at least it occupies my mind and vanquishes my homesickness, however briefly.

Opening the door, the room inside is luxurious. A king-size bed in the corner, a bureau containing clothes of foreign material, a door leading into a high-tech bathroom, and a lamp. My family isn't poor, but they aren't rich enough to afford these luxuries.

Changing into nightclothes the bureau kindly provides, I collapse on the bed, feeling dwarfed by its vastness and suddenly alone.

To comfort myself, I decide to recite a story to myself that Mom used to tell me when I was young.

_"Once upon a time, there was this slave who worked for a rich man. He was unhappy with his job, his master was mean to him, and he didn't get paid._

_There were other slaves too. They were unhappy, Master was mean, and they didn't get paid either._

_All of the slaves were forced to work hard to bring the things the rich man wanted, and the rich man didn't have to work at all; he just said: 'Do it', and the slaves did it._

_This particular slave was unhappier than the rest. He hated the rich man more than the others. One day, the slave realized that he actually didn't have to work for the rich man, so he wrote a note saying that he didn't want to anymore. He sent it to the rich man, but the rich man laughed at the note._

_The next day, the rich man found the dead body of the slave._

_The End."_

A rather morbid bedtime story, but I guess she thought I was too young to comprehend the meaning. Or she told me this because she knew I'd remember the story, and then understand it when I was older.

Whatever, I'm too tired and I don't want to think about it. So I curl up in my massive bed and try to sleep.

Sleep comes to me, and I dream dreams of blood.


	4. District Four Reapings

**Always' A/N: **Hi, everyone, it's AlwaysHasAPlan again. So, are you ready to see the last tributes of the traditional Career alliance? If you're not, you better get ready, 'cause here they are! We bring to you…

The reapings of District 4!

* * *

**Alison Rain, 16 ~ District 4 Female**

**EmmaRizcool**

I tighten my ponytail, pulling at the blonde curly locks. I stare at the dummy in front of me.

"I guess I will name you. . .Zachary," I laugh vengefully. I hold my spear in hand and aim. "This is what you get for volunteering." I hit the dummy in the stomach, so I can continue my torture. "This is what you get for making promises you can't keep." I pull the spear out, and trace the sharp tip around the heart area, leaving a scratch mark. With more anger in my voice, I scream, "And this is what you get for selling yourself to those Capitol girls!" I pierce the dummy in the heart.

I think I'm done training for the day.

I wipe a small tear forming in my eye. I can't think about him on a day like this; today is the reaping. Zachary has a great life, and I don't need him. He definitely doesn't need me! Ever since he won, it seems like he doesn't know I exist. But today, I will show him that I exist! I will be better than he ever was.

I pull off my training outfit, and put on a little sea-green dress – one that matches my eyes. He always said that I had perfect eyes, the perfect smile, and the perfect thirst for blood. He said that one day, we would be victors together and live in the lap of luxury. Maybe even start a family. Of course, the universe had a different plan. He got so wrapped up in the live of a victor: the women, the money, the spotlight. He left me in the dust.

I walk out the door of the training centre. The typical District 4 sunlight and heat engulf me as I look at everyone gathered in the square. The Justice Building is decorated with beautiful colors, and the male escort stands on the stage. I catch a small glimpse of my little brother Pane getting his finger poked for blood. The ocean that lays in the distance has a soothing effect.

"Why are you so late?" a familiar voice snaps at me.

"I was training, Mother," I snap back. "Don't get your old-lady panties in a twist." I know she is trying to help me, she has helped me my whole life, but I really don't need the extra stress.

"You know, you don't need to volunteer this year; you could wait until you are older and stronger," my mom replies.

"No, Mom, there is no time. Time gives him a chance to completely forget," I say, with an unnecessary, quiet rage.

I walk away before she can say anything more. I push through a line of children. One stands his ground, not letting me pass.

"Move." He does nothing. "So, you want to test me, child. I am in no mood for this game," I say agitatedly. The kid, half-shocked, half-frightened, moves out of my way. "Good choice."

The lady at the check-in motions for my finger. I hand it to her. The little device beeps – "Rain, Alison." I walk over to where the other sixteen-year-olds are.

This is my year. I will accomplish all I have trained for. I let all emotion wash away like waves that slide after washing onto the sand.

Anything I do from this day has an impact on my life, my survival, and all of Panem is now watching. Soon, I will step out of District 4 and into a world I cannot even imagine. No way am I going to lose. I will squeeze the life out of those pathetic children. I will never lose – to anyone.

The stage lays in front of the Justice Building, like a doorway – a doorway to what I have dreamed about my whole life.

They start to play that video. I mean, why do they have to? We already know why there are the Hunger Games. I look at the faces of the children in the video. They look as if they had lost all hope. I almost feel kind of bad for them; they did not know what was coming.

"Welcome. It is time to pick one lucky man and one lucky woman to represent District Four in the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games," the male escort says in that amazing Capitol accent. He is a new escort, one that I have never seen before. "Ladies first," he says, sticking his white-as-paper hand into the reaping bowl. He pulls out a small piece of paper. "Susie-"

I cut him off before he can get in a last name. "I volunteer," I say, loud enough for all to hear and not make the mistake of trying to go against me. I run up on the stage. "My name is Alison Rain, and I will gladly volunteer to be tribute." My heart feels like it is beating a mile a minute.

A girl I recognize stands up. "She is sixteen; she has two more years to volunteer. I am eighteen; this is my last chance," she pleads with the escort.

What is she trying to do? I swear, if this were not on live television, I would snap her neck. I feel my eyes fill up with that bloodthirsty look, the one that I normally get when training. I glare at her. A shocked expression comes across her face, and she steps into the crowd.

* * *

I pull on a sleek, lacy blue dress. I have got to please him; he's going to keep me alive. I would shred him to pieces, but that would be no fun. He won't know what hit him. This ought to be a real...interesting train ride.

I walk into the dining room. I look at those baby-blue eyes that I have fallen for many times; they seem scared and helpless now. Zachary is actually here in front of me. I glide over and place my lips on his forehead. I sit next to him.

"Long time, no see," I say in my soft, sexy tone.

I watch as the fear in his eyes drifts away. Then he places his hand on my leg, and slowly glides it higher. "You know I have never stopped thinking about you."

"I bet," I say, matching the mood of the moment. I push his hand off. "But you don't get me back that easy."

I look at Nolan and his mentor. Oh, Nolan, something about you draws me in.

I get up and walk to my cabin.

* * *

**Nolan Nixe, 18 ~ District 4 Male**

**John 'Doc' Holliday**

The docks just after Dawn are a beautiful sight to behold. Late-night fishermen coming home weary after hard labor, and the rest of the fishermen preparing to slave another day under the thumb of the Capitol. Today that won't be me; I have a different appointment to keep - one with the devil.

Today is the 4th District reaping. After all these years I, Nolan Nixe, am ready. Even if don't get chosen I will volunteer - that'll show the Capitol. I head out early because I want to be the first one there. "Ahhh." The booth, I approach quickly, the blood-drawing only stings.

"Finger." Curt as always.

"Nolan Nixe, male, eighteen." The machine spurts out my information as I start toward my row and section.

Since I have an hour or so, I allow my mind the privilege of wandering, to the hours of training with fishing tools and weapons. Studying predatory animals, what magnificent creatures; my personal favorite are the mini-dragons. They hunt in Thunders. They breathe ice for the most part - some have fire, and a few breathe gas. Their maximum wingspan is five feet, and from nose to tail they can get up to six feet, but that is extremely rare.

I think about my only friend: my master, the man who taught me everything I know. He taught me Muy Thai knife fighting - to hold the knife with the blade facing downward, fists angled sideways, and keep your hands moving. Then you have a major advantage against other knife fighters. He taught me how to use a spring gun and crossbow - line up the sights, deep breath, let it out, and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, let the recoil surprise you. I almost never miss. Some Peacekeeper got a prank pulled on him by a little kid two years ago. So the pig tried to beat the eight-year-old up, and my master stepped in and pushed the pig away. He screamed, and he was brutally murdered by fifteen of those 'Peacekeepers'. I let the anger fill me, and I focus it. Master taught me that channeled anger is more powerful than adrenaline, but rage is crippling. Don't let the fear or anger control you; you are the controller, use it to your advantage. He also once told me any man who said that he isn't afraid is a liar or a fool, don't stray near them. They will get you killed.

I force my mind back to reality as I brush back my loose dirty blonde hair, the first of the younger kids and some older ones start to show. I remain sitting, because I can. One of the twelve-year-olds is holding onto her mother and sobbing…

"Mother"'s a privilege I never was afforded; mine died at age seven, and my father (the bastard) left us when I was five. Since then, Brother and I have been staying with old neighbors so as to stay out of the community home.

My brother, he would have turned seventeen today, but he died seven years ago. I've kept our fishing business alive. Oh, look, it's time to stand; I put on my cocky, taunting lop-sided smile, and nod comfortingly at the younger boys. It is not their time, because I'm going. It's just like you said, Brother.

They make us listen to their boring speech, the stupid video, and then they decide to call names. "Welcome. It is time to pick one lucky man and woman to represent District Four in the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games," the male escort says in that amazing Capitol accent. This guy is new; well, does he have a lot to learn. Experience may be a hard teacher, but I tend to be tougher.

"Let us pick the ladies first." He draws that white paper that to others must looks like hell, but to me it looks like a slice of heaven. "Susie-" He begins, but a sixteen-year-old girl cuts him off, loud and rehearsed. Seems I'm not the only one with a grudge. My grin slowly spreads - competition.

As she takes the stage, she shouts out, "My name is Alison Rain, and I will gladly volunteer to be tribute." Another girl tries to trade places with her, but that sixteen-year-old slams her back into place. I got to give it to this Rain girl, she's feisty, she might live. . .a week or so.

Now for the men, not the boys. No matter whatever that escort says, the tribute is decided for this year. "Now for the gentlemen." His hand reaches into the bowl gingerly, like vipers are crawling inside. Fool!

"Nolan Nixe." Before those Peacekeepers can reach me, I am striding forward toward the stage, my signature lopsided try-me grin plastered on my face. A lock of hair falls over my right eye, another behind my ear. I don't really care - makes me look all the more different.

I already judged the girl, but I lock eyes and give her another once-over just to let her know I am serious. I let my eyes reflect all the loathing and hate in my soul. To Rain's credit she did not flinch. I think I am starting to like her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you your tributes, Nolan Nixe and Alison Rain." We are now off on our glorious adventure. It's time to burn down the status quo. I actually smile for the first time in a long time, and the last in a long time to come.

It's been two hours since the reaping, and we are about to meet our mentors: Sothe Masters of the Twenty-first Games, and Zachary Shellhammer of the Thirty-fifth. He has a history with my fellow tribute, Rain. Making this ride so much more interesting! She's going to tear him apart, I know it.

I leave my room, to the main dining car. I see the escort. What did he say his name was? Now I remember: Raymon Delvas. He is a fool.

"Oh, hello . . . Nolan." Smiling. Damn it, he's smiling.

"Leave me alone, Escort." I would prefer to say 'Pig', but that is uncalled for. "Mr. Sothe, it is an honor to meet you. Zachary." I love being blunt, but I must be courteous.

"Well, it is an honor to finally meet another working man among the victors. Mr. . . ?" Sothe hasn't been poisoned by this monarchy.

"Nolan. Nolan Nixe, sir." Courtesy should be met with such. "Ahhh, and who is the female tribute? Will she be joining us shortly?" A cocked eyebrow - why does he care so much? Oh yes, he's the playboy. Wait, am I jealous? This isn't good. I need to focus, now.

I turn and face Zachary. "The other tribute is Alison Rain. You know her, don't you?" His face drains of color, and my grin widens. I love a good chase.

"S-she is here?" His voice sounds like a little boy's. A fearful little boy hearing that his father is mad at him. Fool!

"She told me all about you, how you two were once in love? Now I do believe she is going to shred you." I let my taunt hang in the air like a threat.

The victor visibly gulps, but no words appear. I am getting to him, right to his core.

But then something happens that causes even me to lose my composure. Into the room walks Alison Rain, wearing a beautiful dress that more than flatters her figure. Now it is my turn to be caught off-guard. Is she going to shred him in a dress? Really?

She approaches him in a slow, gliding fashion. She bends down and kisses him on the forehead. Ah, I see what she's doing. She's biding her time and making him see what he's missing. That must hurt more than the scars.

"So do you have any advice for a coarse fisherman, Master Sothe?"

"No, Nolan, you've got the charms and the weapons down-pat. Your hand-to-hand combat seems to be fine. At least according to the paper submitted. But your knowledge of land-based creatures and plants usable for food is limited, brush up on that."

"W-what do you mean I've got the charm down-pat?" I'm incredulous - is he lying to me? I look and see Zachary and Alison at another table, and feel a wave of. . .I can't be jealous of a girl now! If only I met her earlier! Oh, do I really think I could have caught her then, or even held her down? My life seems to bring doom to anyone who draws close to me.

"I-I'm not feeling well, I think I think I shall lie down for the remainder of my journey." And with that, I retreat to my cabin.

I think of what my brother said to me the morning before he died. "You will go to the Hunger Games, you will do your best, and you will show those Capitol big-wigs that there are still warriors of honor in the districts." Am I doing this right? I feel like everything is trying to pull me off to the side of the road. I reach and open Mom's locket for the first time since Little Brother died. Inside is a note: "You're doing fine." I know he's watching over me. I have a guardian angel. Now the only question that nags me as I doze is - if I love her.

I wake with a start as the train stops. As I look out the window, I see the wild extravagance of the Capitol. My time has come; it is time to show them, time to show them all. A man of water can burn brighter than any flame.


	5. District Five Reapings

**Nova Aztek****, 18 ~ District 5 Female**

**incubiis**

I forget why I'm here. Just for a second, I forget.

An animation of grey frost projected from my mouth into the air: it expands and dissolves, refusing to still its pattern till I hold my breath. I'm used to holding it, though.

My hands are steady, and my vision is sharp. The arrow flies across the room before I even feel the trigger move, a sensation I have grown to love. Bull's-eye.

The bird is lying on the grass, dead.

"You'll always be a perfect shot, Nova."

"In fact, the best in our district."

"And you'll always be modest, too."

I coyly put a grin on my face and drop the bow. I can breathe. Demitri is smiling at me like an idiot, and I can't help but feel weak in the knees again. Goddamn, Demitri. His arms open up for a hug, but I duck under him to get the bird.

"What? No hug? I guess. . ." He smirks. "I'll have to chase you for it."

I squeal as he attempts to grab me from behind, my hands outstretched to pick up the crow. We're running in circles until he finally ensnares me with his grip and lifts me into the air. Demitri is covering my cheek in slobbery kisses. I'm laughing and smiling, and I remember I have every reason to be happy today.

"Dem', I have to go back home. You know how Xero gets." He snorts. Oh, he knows too well. "It is reaping day."

"Your very last reaping day," he corrects, bopping me on the nose.

"Hey. I can still be reaped, you know!"

"Stop lying to yourself, Nova. You won't be." Demitri drops me to the ground, tossing me my crossbow. "Don't forget the bow." He pecks me on the lips. "See you at the reaping?" I stand on my tippy-toes and give him another kiss.

"Uh-huh." I wave goodbye with my dead crow in hand, and Demitri feigns disgust.

I'm home within ten minutes. "Dad?"

As if on cue, he exits from our tiny kitchen to greet me.

"Hello, Nova. Where were you this morning?" He smiles at me sweetly, placing a light kiss on my forehead. "Not out with that boy again, were you?"

I groan in response. Always looking for another excuse to baby me.

"I had work this morning, Dad. You know that. And his name is Demitri. What does he matter to you?" I hoist the dead crow in the air, frowning.

An amused expression resides on his face. "I'm just-"

"Raising you with the best intentions." It's a feeble attempt to mock him, but he still manages to look hurt.

'Why are you so weak?' a small voice asks in the back of my head. 'Is that all you've got?'

"Look, I get it, you're my dad, and you want the best for me. Sometimes, you have to get off my back! Please, it's the reaping and it's the last time my name will ever be in the bowl! God, Dad, sometimes I really don't think you understand anything!" There's so much bite in my tone; I'm already regretting it. But what is done is done, and I'm already storming off to my bedroom. Stupid teenage angst screwing up my day.

Already attempting to forget it, I look at the gorgeous dress lying on my bed. A twinge of guilt surges through my body. Dad must have saved up so much money. And there I was, insulting him. God, Nova. You're such an idiot! I continue to fawn over the dress, and realize it's almost time for the reaping. I quickly slip out of my work uniform (an old shirt and a pair of pants) and into the sleeveless yellow lace dress. I laugh when I see my reflection.

My ash-brown hair, once in a neat bun, is completely disarrayed from work earlier, and there is plenty of dirt smudged across my face. Fixing both, I look again. I could almost hear what my close friend Linus would say. 'Hot damn, Aztek!'

Then I would start spewing nonsense at him, and he would laugh at me.

"Nova!" I burst out of my room to find my father waiting for me at the end of the hall. "Oh, Nova. You look just like. . ." He sounds nearly heart-broken. After all, eighteen long years without your true love can seriously screw you up in the head. Eighteen long years of being compared to a dead person can seriously screw you up in the head, too. But considering everything, I could've turned out a lot worse. I'm right. Let's just get me a medal. The Not-As-Screwed-Up-As-You-Could've-Been Award!

"Well, whatever. Let's go." He leads me out of the house, giving me an awkward smile.

The trip to the town square is silent, and I'm completely relieved when he leaves me to wait in my pen. All the girls around me are chattering nervously; a muddle between joy and fear is expressed in their faces.

"Uh, hello." The noise level suddenly drops. My attention turns to our escort, Nero Adarwoods. Unlike the other districts, we were stuck with Mr. Gloom. I never liked his too-quiet attitude, or his style either. The piercings never struck me as fashionable. "Heh-hello, District 5." I space out for a bit, knowing they will go through the same sequence: a video of our mistakes, the long, drawling speech of the mayor, and then the list of victors.

"Now, for the tuh-tuh-tuh-tributes," Nero says softly. A glass bowl rolls across the stage, and everyone is holding their breath. Just as he reaches in, an explosion erupts.

Shrieks of already nervous twelve-year-olds can be heard throughout the square. The stage is barely visible behind smoke, and Peacekeepers are frantically searching for whatever or whomever started it all. Soon enough, though, they drag out a particularly tall male. I recognize him as the district prankster, and I let out a low chuckle.

"Look, kid, this is the last straw! Lucky it's the reaping. Maybe you'll get sent to the Capitol rather than prison!" the Peacekeepers guffaw, roughly shoving him to the seventeen-year-old pen.

I, again, turn to Nero. I nearly burst out laughing, only because his somber expression has grown worse. He glares daggers over at the prankster, and turns to the fish bowl again.

"Now, finally for the female tuh-tribute, at last." Nero doesn't hesitate, and immediately selects a name. "Nova Aztek!" I start looking for the unlucky sucker who was reaped. Everyone is staring at me. And then it hits me. I happen to be that unlucky sucker. "I repeat, Nova Aztek!"

Someone shoves me out of the pen, and I take in a few deep breaths.

No.

I begin to walk to the stage.

Not me.

I smile at my district.

Demitri promised.

I turn it into a smirk.

Be strong, Nova.

"How uh-old are yuh-you?"

You will live, Nova.

"Eighteen."

"Oh, wh-what a shame. It wuh-was your last year." I shrug a bit, still playing a smirk.

You will live.

Another bowl is rolled out, and I gulp. Who will I be battling to the death? "The male tribute is Lead Morrison!" As soon as I see the prankster approach the stage, I snicker. Isn't that ironic?

* * *

**Mega's A/N:** Hey, what's up? Megalor9 is in this story! Yeah! *all the readers applaud* Anyhow, I've come up with the most ingenious tribute, Lead Morrison of District Five. One word I should add, Lead speaks in French whenever he's swearing. So if you don't know what French swear words are, then you can look them up, or just generally try to guess the meaning of them. My general warning with Lead is: constant cursing, and mild sexism. Just so you know. It's his character.

**Lead Morrison****,** **17 ~ District 5 Male**

**Megalor9**

Some people are lucky enough to get nice family members, who gently wake them up. Then, they slowly open their eyes, with light trickling in until they can finally see their room.

Not me. Light crashes, temporarily blinding me, my eyes wide open. The air horn is still blowing.

"Maudit," I mutter under my breath, as it's obviously one person. "Maudit." Mom would kill me if she heard me speaking like this. I turn toward the noise, coming from the left side of my bed. "Maudit sois-tu!" I yell at my brother. It could only be him. This is his idea.

I roll out of my small bed, and fall to the floor. God. Have. To. Wake. Up. Now. I shake my head, then jump to my feet, covering my ears at the same time. I must be close, because the sound is louder than ever.

"Why the heck did you do that, bastard?" I yell over the air horn. Now that my eyes have adjusted, I see my brother sitting on the bed across the room from mine. I start charging at him, naturally, and getting ready to punch him in the gut. And I succeed. He never saw it coming.

"You shoulda' known, Xavier, that would be your punishment," I tell him, as he grabs his gut for the sake of air. His grip on the horn has released, and I take it out of his hand easily.

But Xavier quickly stands up and punches me back. I can tell he's just playing with me, just toying with me. It doesn't hurt. I shrug it off.

"You could be late for the reaping, brother," Xavier replies. As he says that, I turn to look at the analog clock on the white wall. An hour and a half to go until we need to leave. Then, another hour until the whole shebang actually starts.

"Maudit sois-tu, you're lying. All lies. There's like, two hours until it starts," I say quite forcefully, throwing the words at his face almost.

Just to make sure he hasn't. . .messed with the clock, I walk over to the wall. I can easily reach the clock, as I'm tall enough. Taller than my brother, even. And he's two years older than I am.

A simple un-hooking off the wall puts the clock in my hands. I examine it, then open the back hatch. Nothing's been messed with, to my notice. The gears are all in the right place.

"Again, lies," I tell Xavier. Really. I was half-expecting him to set it so it looks early, but I'll be late.

"No, really, man. I'm being totally serious with you, man. I wanted to get started on the project," Xavier says, holding out his hands. He's trying to play the innocent card. I highly doubt that.

"You're just playing with me. You just wanted to annoy me, right?" I ask. He might be right about the project, though. The project that's supposed to be done today.

"No, I'm dead serious." Xavier takes his white-skinned hand and grips my wrist with it. "Follow me."

Ah, the contrast between our arms. My skin is dark, cocoa black, when his is a pale pinkish color. He's not my blood brother. But he's close enough, being adopted. I feel like he's a real brother. Xavier would beat my head in if I said anything different. He's almost twice as strong.

I follow him down the stairs that connect the upstairs floor, which is Xavier's and my room, to the ground floor kitchen. Usually, we should eat something. Instead, Xavier turns right, and right again, heading down more stairs to a basement. More like a cellar, actually.

My bare feet make no noise on the stone bricks that are the cellar floor. The cellar has sort of a dungeon/prison feel; I've never liked it. But it's the only place where my brother and I can have peace and quiet from everyone else. Xavier has to light a candle on the wall to see the workshop we've built. I quickly start to look through the workshop bench we have set up. It's a simple desk in a small room, and a shelf lined with mechanical parts and gunpowder and who knows what else. Just all the things Xavier and I could find.

My eyes find a small, grapefruit-sized spherical metallic case that is our project, our prank, our idea for the reaping. Xavier runs up to the kitchen to get something, and I smile. The sugar.

We've been planning to do this for a week. It took a week to get the materials for the bomb. We needed some salty chemical, which took a while to get. Sugar, we have that in our house. Wax paper, another thing we have. In other words, the chemical was the hardest. Xavier was in charge of cooking the chemical and the sugar together, turning it into a sort of. . .candy, I guess. Not good to eat, though. I was making the metal casing, as the candy is fragile and breaks.

I start to widen the holes in the metal casing. There's holes in the casing, directed so that the smoke spreads out over a wide area, instead of going straight up. Directing the blast, I guess. I've also made the fuse, a string doused in oil that'll burn well.

It might not be the best bomb we've ever made, because Xavier and I have created many. But it'll be enough. Xavier comes back down the stairs, to the 'Shop', as we call it, holding a wooden tray with a small lump of brown candy. Bomb candy. That was his nickname for it. Now the casing is ready, the fuse is ready, and the bomb itself is ready. I tie the fuse around the bomb candy, and place it in the casing. Then, seal the casing shut with some tape.

Xavier reaches out his hand for a high-five, and I accept. This was worth it. This'll be the ultimate prank ever. We're going to set off the bomb at the reaping. It's all worth it, seeing the expressions on the Peacekeepers' faces. And best of all, I doubt we can get busted for this prank. I'm sure that they can't arrest someone who's eligible for reaping on reaping day. I'd need to be present. And then I could hide, afterwards, in the rush of people trying to leave the square. It's the perfect plan. We'll never get caught.

Then I remember Xavier. What if they catch him with me? They'll arrest him, and then probably execute him. He's not eligible for reaping any more, he's nineteen. My smile drops a bit. But I try and pick it back up.

"So, you ready for this?" Xavier asks.

"Sooooo ready," I reply, rolling the 'o' for effect. "Let's go now!"

"You. . .aren't dressed, and don't have shoes on, Lead," Xavier adds.

"Shut the baise up, bro, I'm detonating this bomb," I say, then rush upstairs to get dressed. I know I'm super-amazing and totally control my own actions, but if I wasn't dressed for reaping, I'm pretty sure my dad would kill me. I do have some conscience, you know.

I pause a moment to think of what I'll wear. But then again, who needs respect from me? I'll just throw something on. I'm sure my dad will only kill me if I go to the reaping nude, not if I wear tattered clothes or anything. That's a good idea...

And who cares? I'm not going to get reaped for the Hunger Games or anything. I highly doubt it. I really don't have to take tesserae, only every other year. Better than most kids in 5. Because I am better than most of them. I mean, come on, intelligence is the main factor, but a lot other things too.

I'm smarter, taller. I've studied bombs, electronics, machines, hovercrafts, trains. I know how each of those things work, down to a perfect art. It would be kind of cool to go to the Capitol, see all the cool technology, and try to mess with it and make it not work or do different things. But the main point is I'm smarter than most everyone in District 5. No, I'm sure that I'm smarter than everyone.

After throwing on some misshapen clothes, I head downstairs again, where Xavier is sitting in the only chair in the kitchen. "You gonna' eat something?" he asks.

"No. Too excited. Wait until after the reaping to get breakfast," I say. And for once, I'm being true. My stomach feels like it could explode right about now. I'll have to wait. Maybe after the bomb explodes, and the reaping is over, and I'm safe for a year. Even the great Lead Morrison is not immune to pre-reaping jitters.

I start wondering about the Hunger Games now, after thinking of the reapings. The two kids will probably be poor saps that are homeless. Then the poor saps will die in the Bloodbath. Our last victor was nine years ago, I think. And look what he turned out to be? A drunk. He's not even human anymore. A Career is bound to win. But maybe my smoke bomb can bless a lucky tribute, and District 5 can earn three victors.

My dad is still asleep, but Mom is visible. She's sitting in a chair, muttering to herself. She's always like that, muttering something unintelligible to herself. When I was little, I used to pester her about waking up, or why she was talking to herself. I'm smart enough to figure it out, though. After a few years, I learned: she's lived in an era before the Hunger Games, before the monstrosity. Same with my dad, but he's male, so he takes it slightly better than my mother does.

HE's where I get my height from, as he's 6'5" and I'm as tall as him. My mom is my bloodline, going back to some weird country, not Panem but somewhere south, where they spoke this language that we use now. French, or Francais, as she calls it sometimes.

But somehow, I know they'll make it to the reaping after we do. So, Xavier and I leave, without telling anyone at all. We have to scope out the square, find the best place to detonate, and then make it back to the crowd before they can single us out. You have to assess everything. I'm pretty sure Peacekeepers will be crawling all over the place.

"You have the project, right?" I say, careful to avoid using the word 'bomb' around my mother.

Xavier nods, and we start our walk to the square. I'll become famous after this. Not like I already am, but anyways, I'll be famous, or infamous, but both include famous in them. The President is infamous, but he's still famous, right? I'll be a mixture of both after I pull this off.

I'm sure we have a good hour before the reaping begins, so I try and relax my nerves. Take a deep breath. Working off of memory, I picture the stage and the crowd of boys. I'll be near the front, so that's good. The methods of detonation? Lighting the fuse and throwing the bomb, or lighting it, then going over there and casually dropping it under the stage. I think throwing would work slightly better. I don't know about my aim, but I assume it's amazing. Like everything else.

When we finally arrive, I feel my pulse quicken about one thousand beats. I could either be in jail today, or sitting at home, laughing it up. It'll be the latter. At least if I can convince my mind that.

There's of course the usual security check, signing in, all that. It's kind of robotic and automatic for me. I've done this for five years now.

The one thing I oughta do is search for my friends. But they're nowhere in sight. Even though my sight kind of lacks in ability, I should be able to recognize two faces out of the crowd. Pluto and Javier.

Javier's my age, but I'm pretty sure he would ditch me, even though I've been his best friend for life. He always respects the law. I don't know how my actions today will change our status.

Pluto is a girl, and she'll always be loyal to my cause. Always.

Thirty minutes till the bomb, I think to myself. It's funny how almost everything I'm thinking of has to relate to the bomb. Everything. It's the only thing I have to do. No backing down. All I can think of is if the bomb will work or not.

It's shortly time to go to our assigned areas. For my brother, that means sitting in the crowd with my parents. For me, it involves heading over to where the seventeen-year-olds are standing, near the front of the mass of boys.

"Hand me the project," I whisper.

"Good. Throw it under the stage," Xavier adds in an equally quiet tone, then bumps into me. On purpose; I know this. He slips the grapefruit bomb into my hand, and we quickly break apart.

"Good luck," Xavier adds as he walks away. A normally unsuspicious comment. People would think, 'Good luck, hope you don't get reaped,' not, 'Good luck, have fun throwing a bomb underneath the stupid escort'.

I take my place. When someone taps me on the shoulder, I nearly jump three feet in the air. A Peacekeeper? No. Finally, I see Javier. He's been pretty much invisible the entire time.

"Where've you been?" I ask him, accusingly almost.

"Look, what are you planning? I know that grin on your face. It's the one you always use whenever you're about to do something stupid."

"It's not stupid! It's ingenious!" And then, I flick my hand to the left a little bit, briefly showing off the smoke bomb.

"Dude, you're going to get arrested," Javier says, as if that's the worst thing in the world that could ever happen to me. "Your other crimes were bad enough. But now you've gone over your head. I'm not going to bail you out of this one."

And after that, he gives me the cold shoulder. Who cares? I don't need anyone to help me with this. I don't need Javier. Even though I might've had plans for him to bail me out, with his goody-two-shoes status. No. No plans involve Javier anymore.

I missed the escort and the mayor and the mentors. All while talking to Javier. Time flies when you're having fun. . .or arguing with your best friend. The stage is now full; all the people that are supposed to be up there are there. The mayor of 5, the two mentors, and the escort.

The escort's sputtering out something about the honor of the Hunger Games. I don't really know what he's saying. He's got, like, piercings all over his body, and a dark, dark tan. . .close to my skin tone. He's just a poor imitation of me.

Wait, it's time. I have to get the bomb ready.

I start slowly, almost undetectably moving forward through the crowd. Creeping my way to the front. Some of the others make way for me, as I look like I'm eighteen. Being six-and-a-half feet tall has it's perks.

I then motion and start moving towards the edge of the boys. Right behind the escort's head, where I find myself suddenly hoping he didn't follow the old saying: eyes in the back of your head. You can never tell with those weird Capitol people.

My fingers slip into my jeans pockets, where I struggle to find a lighter underneath the pieces of machines. There's a lot of stuff in them, stuff I've never touched before. Stuff I just randomly pick up, then go the the 'Shop' and deposit there. I find my lighter, which is struggling to work. Why now? Why now? I click the lighter, hoping for a small flame at least.

A small flame does come, after about a million tries. It grows a little bit, to the size where I could light the fuse. It'll burn quickly, with all the oil.

No time to waste. The escort guy is walking over to one of the glass reaping balls, for the name of the female tribute. I quickly move the flaming lighter to the fuse of the bomb, and within seconds, start locking in on my target. My hands stay steady. I find a good-sized crack underneath the stage. Then, I throw the bomb.

Time seems to slow down. This is the pass-or-fail moment. The bomb slowly spins through the air, the flaming fuse burning down to the center. I look left and right for Peacekeepers. There's only one that could actually see me right now, and I doubt he'll see the bomb.

My aim was right, as it's always been. Spot-on. I'm sure it's because of my hands: they were built for delicate work, and never falter. My hands stay steady. The bomb rolls underneath the stage, hitting the floor of the square in front of the Justice Building only once. I wince. Someone could've heard that.

I casually make my way back to the seventeen-year-old area, hoping no one noticed. No one seems to take any interest.

The escort has the name of the female tribute in hand, heading over to the microphone, when there is a small Boom! A small one. I slipped in a bit of gunpowder, so it would make noise.

Just as I predicted, smoke starts pouring out of the cracks of the stage, and goes into the crowd, making the whole place have a hazy, misty sort of feel. I smile with glee. A boy is laughing; one person probably gets the notion that it's my work. He pats me on the back. I take all the praise. I've succeeded.

I look for Javier. Because God knows what he thinks about this all. My worst thought is that he's tipped off the Peacekeepers. My eyes cannot find him.

I can't call for him - the roar of the crowd is too much. I do shout "Javier!" a couple of times, but there's not a single reply.

Then, my worst fears are realized. Peacekeepers. They're walking through the crowd of guys, from the back. Someone spilled the beans. Who knew of my plan, other than my brother? Javier. Did he really just tell on his best friend? His best friend? Or did the Peacekeepers know me, and keep tabs on me, and can recognize anything I do? I can only hope the latter. I would hate to lose Javier.

Keep your head in the game, Lead, a voice inside me says. Oh, right. Forget Javier, focus on the Peacekeepers that are about to grab me. I've missed my opportunity to run, and they've surrounded me. Two grab my arms, when I start to flail. The muscles in my arm tense as they try to break free of the grip. To no avail, I'm caught, I've finally been caught. "Baiser," I mutter, but loud enough the Peacekeepers can hear me. The puzzled looks on their faces are worth it.

"Maudit la capitale," I say, with every ounce of my strength. Still more confused faces. Obviously, they don't speak French. Maybe try something in English?

"Look, you can't arrest me until the reaping's over, right? I still have a chance to get reaped. So you have to wait." Brilliant, Lead, keep it up, you can convince them to let you go. Then, run far, far away from the square and the Peacekeepers.

"True. But after this, kid, you're under arrest, you got that?" one of the Peacekeepers says, keeping a hard grip on my arm. "We'll be watching you."

"I got it. Clear as mud," I say, in an honest-to-goodness voice. Underneath that, I smirk.

"Look, kid, this is the last straw. Lucky it's the reaping. Maybe you'll get sent to the Capitol instead of prison!" the same Peacekeeper says. Obviously he's the only one capable of speech.

That was incredibly brave of me, though. Now, I'm shivering with fear, after the Peacekeepers leave me. What options do I have? It's either get reaped, or run. . .Could they catch me? I'm pretty sure the Capitol would use a lot of resources to catch only one ignorant, defiant boy. My eyes look up. Now, the Peacekeepers have brought the eyes of everyone to look at me. This is awkward. . .

"Stop looking at me," I mumble to no one in particular. I check the status up on stage, to see what destruction I've wrought.

"Now. . .finally, for the female tuh-tribute," the pierced escort guy says, stuttering on the word 'tribute' a bit. "N-Nova Aztek." So that's the female tribute, huh? I think I know Nova, maybe just a little bit. Just the name and a basic personality. She's a bitch that thinks she's better than everyone else. Problem solved. "I repeat, Nova Aztek!"

The Nova girl walks to the stage. She looks pretty confident for someone who just got sentenced to death.

"How uh-old are yuh-you?" the escort asks Nova.

"Eighteen," Nova speaks out.

"Oh, wh-what a shame. It wa-was your last year," the escort says, before going to the other reaping ball. He takes a moment to find a name, then draws it out. He walks over to the microphone to call out the unlucky sap that I'm sure will be dead in the Games.

"The male tribute is Lead Morrison!"

Really? This is just. . .shit. . .

"Maudit," I whisper. Damn.

"This is rigged!" I yell. "Cette putain se truque!" Why would the Capitol do that? Of course, I realize it would've been obvious to anyone. But this... this was rigged... the odds are not in my favor anymore... The only thing to do is, I guess, walk up there and accept my bleak future?

Not bleak. Victorious. I can imagine myself sitting in a fancy mansion, all nice and tidy, like a victor should be. I might have a chance. So, I calmly walk to the stage, trying to avoid glances from my family. Or anyone else.

"Now... wuh-what's your age?" the escort says, probably very surprised by my minor outbreak. And the fact that it was I that set off the bomb, and I who got reaped.

"I'm seventeen, if you didn't notice," I say, looking down on him. He's a lot shorter than me, like near a foot shorter.

"Oh-okay then. Here are the two District Five tributes!" the escort says vigorously. Was he expecting to get applause? No applause from this district. I smirk. You think we're excited about the Hunger Games, you short-sighted Capitol person? Well, that's too bad.

"You got lucky this time, kid," the smart Peacekeeper says, as he guides me into the Justice Building. "Now stay in here, and try not to blow it up. Even scum like you have visitors."

What? Oh, yes, I'm here to say goodbye to my family. Goodbye to my brother, and maybe my friends. I should've been arrested. It might be better if I was arrested. But now, now I have to go to the Hunger Games.

I run through who might be coming in. My brother, definitely. My parents, yes. Javier? Maybe.

I'm not quite sure what's wrong with the guy. He must've tipped off the Peacekeepers. Why? It was a perfect plan! I just didn't factor in Javier.

"Ugghhhhhh," I groan. It's obviously the worst day of my entire life. I find a sofa and throw myself onto it.

I'm only in the reaping bowl six times. The reaping has to be rigged. Someone else is responsible for this. Not fate or destiny, but probably some high-up Capitol executive, picking out poor kids. Or kids that'll create a good show. Or naughty kids, like me.

I need a new plan. I can make bombs, and I can throw pretty well too. I could become a player in these Games, fully accept the fact that I've been reaped and fight. Fight. Yes. I will fight for the win now.

"This is your only visitor, kid," a voice says, and I hear footsteps enter the room. My only visitor?

I turn so I'm sitting up on the sofa. It's Xavier. My brother. "Look, dude, I'm sorr-"

I cut him off. "No, I threw the bomb. I didn't know I'd be arrested. How could I tell? You have nothing to apologize for." Is he about to cry? Baby. I'm not crying, am I? No. I have to tough it out. But a question still puzzles me. The Peacekeeper said this was my only visitor. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

This question brings tears to Xavier's eyes. "Th-they're outside. Mom had a near-heart attack when you were reaped, and they tried to arrest you and all. Dad stayed with her, along w-with some medics."

My heart sinks a foot deeper. A heart attack? Over my getting reaped? "And what's going to happen to you?"

"I dunno'. I think they're planning on taking me custody or something. Or maybe..." Xavier trails off.

"Don't think about it," I tell him. "They wouldn't kill you about something I did."

"Maybe, but you have to win, Lead. You have to beat out everyone else and win. We'll be safe, if you win, I'm sure of it."

"I can win," I respond.

"Show the Gamemakers that you're the bomb. Literally. Explode through the competition."

I chuckle at the bomb puns. "Yeah, I'll blow them all away."

"No. Seriously. Win, Lead, and take this with you. You are allowed to wear a token, right?" Xavier extends a closed hand to me.

"Yeah," I say as I put my palm underneath his hand. He drops a necklace, with a metal ball attached where a pendant would go.

"The ball's made of lead. I found it, in case you got reaped and needed a token," Xavier says, as I put the necklace on. It's nice, smooth, a metal chain. Simple.

"Sweet," I tell him. "Thanks. I can win. Don't worry."

At least I got that final statement in. just then, the Peacekeepers bust into the room. But instead of grabbing my brother, they grab me.

"Win!" Xavier calls, as I'm escorted out. Are they taking me to the train station? Why not just simply take Xavier out?

"Okay, so you need five guards for a teenager? What am I, a mass murderer?" I yell.

"Technically, you're in our custody until you're on the train to the Capitol. And we want to see you personally escorted out of District Five," my friend the intelligent Peacekeeper replies, quite calmly.

"You think I'd actually escape?"

"Um..." The Peacekeeper trails off a little bit. "Yes."

Oh, that's just great. I have my own Peacekeeper convoy. I feel like, maybe a celebrity. I will be, once I win and beat out everyone else.

I slouch, patting my stomach. Wow. I never imagined food could be so good. Our family eats okay, yes - enough to sustain ourselves. I'm even a little overweight, just a little.

But the great food was in a not-so-great atmosphere. It was silent as the grave. No one's died yet, but no one's talked at all. It was just awkward silence through the whole thing. I kept getting evil glances from Nova, and compassionate looks from the stuttering escort Nero.

I've settled down on a velvet chair, like my district partner and the female mentor from our district. The kind of odd one. The guy victor has probably gone to throw up his wine, or drink more wine. Stupid drunk.

On all Panem televisions, the reaping recaps begin. I'll get a little glimpse of the tributes, my nice competitors. I'll have to kill some of them, surely, but for now I'll just watch. District One and Two has all volunteers. The names of the District One kids that were called out in the reaping are just plain weird. . .'Delight'. . .what a weird name. But he got volunteered for. The male tribute gets into a fistfight with another guy, and whoops the other guy's butt.

"Turn the volume up," I say, breaking the awkward silence. "I can't hear District Three." And it's true, maybe the escort was a soft talking person. One of the mentors picks up a remote to change the volume.

Then, District Three has been passed. Onto Four, where there's more Career tributes.

Then I start paying attention. It's going to District 5. I can see the escort Nero on the TV screen. I smile as the explosion starts, and smoke covers everything, and then the TV screen goes fuzzy. What?

Some lady from the Capitol, like an announcer, comes on, saying that the District 5 reaping lost feed from the explosion.

"The explosion was caused by malfunctioning equipment," the announcer says. "No one was harmed. There is some feed, though, after the explosion. Here it is."

The TV cuts back to the reaping stage, where the escort is just about to call a name. Mine. I see myself, in the crowd, as the cameras zoom in on me, and I'm yelling in French and English. I'm cursing out the Capitol on live TV, and the Capitol has no clue what I'm saying. Perfect.

Then it just moves on to District Six, but I'm too busy laughing. French is a near-dead language, I doubt they could find an interpreter.

But they skipped over the part of me being arrested, and I'm kind of glad for that. No need to tell the other tributes that I'm a criminal. I can hear Nova trying to talk to the female mentor, talking about strategy. Then, she directs a question at me.

"And what's your strategy going to be, wise guy?" Nova says, glaring at me with intensity. Not the good kind. The hatred kind.

"Blow them all away," I say, quoting the bomb puns me and my brother came up with earlier.

"Describe," Nova demands.

"You saw what I can do, right?" I ask. A couple blank faces. "Oh, come on, that was me who set off the bomb, to those of you who weren't paying attention."

Nero gasps as he is trying to put an earring back in his ear.

But Nova turns to me and says, "Well, duh. And that's going to help you in the Games how?"

"I can blow people up! You think that's a bad skill?" I find myself yelling.

"Will they even have bombs in the Cornucopia?" Nova asks accusingly.

"She's right. They haven't put explosives in the Cornucopia yet," the female mentor says, finally piping up in our argument. She's talking a lot quieter than we are.

"You never know. And may I ask how you're planning to win this, girl?" I ask Nova, trying to tone down this argument.

"I can shoot better than you could even dream, Lead. But other than bombs, which is sure to be unhelpful in the Games, you're hopeless!" Nova yells.

"And how do you know there'll be something to shoot?" I fire back at her. "One year they didn't have bows or crossbows or anything!"

"At least I have a useable weapon!"

"So do I!"

"There won't be anything to explode!"

"Yeah, there will. The mines, right? There's mines underneath the plates that tributes stand on, right?" I've actually considered this as my strategy. Maybe I could find a way to re-arm the mines and make them into actual weapons. But that would require the Career pack to be gone from the Cornucopia.

"Like you could actually arm those mines and blow them up! That's impossible! And the Career pack would be guarding the place, 24/7! You'd be speared and dead in seconds," Nova screams.

"And what if I was in the Career pack?" I ask. Which is totally possible. Sometimes the Careers let kids from other districts join. And I definitely have the skill.

"Get it out of your head. You'd never be strong enough to make it into the Career pack, idiot," Nova says with particular poison.

"That's what you think!"

She got so riled up over nothing. Really?

Nova storms off, steaming mad. At least I don't have any friendship at all with Nova. Maybe I get the lucky honor of killing her. But can I kill her? After all, she is from my district, my second reminder of home other than this lead ball on a chain.

No. I'll kill to win.


	6. District Six Reapings

**Cecelia Trimble****, 13 ~ District 6 Female**

**pinkgirraffe10**

_Tommy, why do you always have your dang water gun? Aaaackkkk! Stop spraying me! Stop it!_

Then he's gone. All gone. I blink a few times and realize it was just a dream. Tommy has been gone since I was six.

He was fifteen when he got reaped for the Games, and he made it pretty far! The final two. Then I heard him get butchered in front of the entire of Panem. It was horrible, so we barely ever talk of it. First his tongue was taken out. Then he lost his eyes. At this point, he was still alive. The District 2 girl cut off my brother's limbs, and finally plunged her sword through his heart. Killing him. I got sort of a mercy being born blind; I didn't have to watch. To this day, I still have terrible nightmares. The worst nightmare is that I'm the one doing it.

As I stretch my arms out, I feel a letter on my bedside table. I grab it – it's in Braille, so I can read it. It says that they already left for a business meeting, so they made me breakfast and laid my outfit out on my dresser. Sometimes I think they treat me a little bit like a baby.

Well, best put this outfit on! As I slip into it, I know that it is some kind of shirt and skirt, and a bow that I fix securely into my hair. I can feel around me and pop on shoes of some kind other than heels; I can't tell.

I slowly feel my way toward the kitchen and find two slices of toast waiting for me. Time for breakfast.

I definitely have to leave soon. I don't know when, but soon. My watch is in my Braille, too. Uh-oh! It's twenty minutes to the reaping! Gotta' run!

Phew! I think I made it time. I feel my way to the desks for checking in people, and hear them ask for my name.

I reply hurriedly, "Cecelia Trimble."

I take hold of something, and am ushered into what I'm guessing is the thirteen-year-old pen.

"Welcome, District Six, to this year's reaping. Of course, we have to start off with the Treaty of the Treason," the mayor of District 6 announces. I actually listen to it.

"Our wonderful escort, Zeus Halls!" There are a couple of 'Boo's and 'Get off the stage!' here or there, but overall, there is laughing. Hysterical, crazy laughs. Wow. New escort, new alterations! I wonder what they are!

"Welcome, everyone! I won't waste time now." I want to hear the poor, unfortunate girl's name. Here it comes! "And the female tribute for District Six is. . ." The anticipation is boiling over! Come on! "Cecelia Trimble!" Oh no. It can't be me. It can't.

But as I can hear no one else walking, I know it's true. I feel the colour draining from my face, ever so quickly. No, Cecelia. Don't you dare cry! But I can feel a few tears springing up. Too late. I can hear my parents howling at the back with misery, and my brother Sammy sobbing in the fifteen-year-old section.

As I take a slow shuffle forward, I hear a loud, triumphant cackle from my age group. I keep on shuffling though, and eventually get up the stairs. I feel anger rise up through me. It's too powerful; I lose control. What I do next astonishes everyone. I gracefully take off my left shoe and listen for just a moment to that laugh. You see, my other senses are supernatural.

Thwack! I think I nailed them!

Everyone gasps as I stand next to the escort, and my rage comes back. I don't know why, but I punch Zeus as hard as I can in the gut. By the sound of it, I made him collapse. Wow, just a little harder than I meant to. . .hehehe. . .

I start to show my tears, but since I don't want to look like a baby, I wipe them away as fast as I dare. I already know I'm dead – I'm blind! The only chance I have is to use my senses to my advantage, and I don't have much of a chance even with that!

I don't feel angry anymore, so I finish wiping away the last of the tears and put my hands behind my back, waiting for Zeus to get up.

He moans a couple of times, but regains his balance without help. He has a pained tone to his voice when he speaks: "Okay, and the male tribute is. . ." I just hope it's not Justin, my best friend. Or Jason, his brother. "Christopher Silver." I can't see him, but I know that I've heard of his dad before; I think when I was younger, Mom bought a painting from him. Dad did mention he had a son.

I hear a few 'No's from people in the back, and in one of the middle-way sections of age.

As he tromps up, Zeus asks the world's worst question for a moment like this: "How do you feel?"

Unlike me, he is being kind. Yuck. "Honored."

We are both escorted backstage to do our goodbyes. This will be pleasant!

The Peacekeeper takes me to a small room to two sofas, a desk, and some chairs. Chris apparently went to the room next door.

Five minutes later. No one yet, but by the way my mom was sobbing, I know she will be here, sometime.

My attention turns to what I'm going to do in the Games. Did anyone notice any signs that I'm blind? If they did, do they think it's an advantage or disadvantage? Will anyone sponsor me? Do I get an ally? Am I the youngest or weakest?

I decide to feel my watch, and am shocked to find out it's been a half-hour already!

All attention goes to a sound through the wall. It's supposed to be soundproof. A couple of minutes ago, I heard some shouting and a door slam. It must have been his dad. Chris's scream was muffled yet so loud. It's what everyone does when angry! Even me!

Then there's silence.

Different voices come from what I'm guessing is the door. Four people storm in, and two sob, and another starts talking.

"Cecelia, how could this happen?" It's Justin! I feel a warm happiness start to overflow through me, and I hug him very tightly, which he informs me is choking him, so I stop.

"Justin! You actually came!"

"Cecelia, we will all be sponsoring you from home so you can come back." That was Mom, the only female voice except mine.

"Mom, even if I do live, I'll be cursed with all the terrible scenes! I would be hidden in a shell."

"No, Cecelia. You wouldn't! You would be the only one who wouldn't be cursed for life!" I never thought of that! I want to win!

"Mom, who is who in this room, just so I know?"

"I am right in front of you. Dad is in the corner. Justin is on the bigger sofa; Jason is on the other sofa," she replies, getting tense.

"Where's Sammy?" I can't help but feel nervous.

"Oh, Cecelia! All of us went crazy with terror when you went backstage. The Peacekeepers managed to snap most of us out. . ." I dread what she says next. "But they couldn't get Sammy. I'm so sorry." So that's what took them so long.

"Tell Sammy I love him and will miss him a lot in the arena." I ask for everyone to line up. "Jason, don't get into any trouble while I'm gone." I give him a hug and a smile, then go on. "Dad, I love you in every way possible. Sponsor me every day until I'm back. Please." Another hug and a kiss, and continue. "Mom, you are the best mom in the world! I will miss you ever so much. Also, make sure Dad doesn't slip off like he did when Tommy died." Hug and smile, but longer, and move on. "Justin, you are my eyes and practically my brother. I will always remember you." My last goodbye.

He puts something around my neck. "It's a token. A purple, heart-shaped locket with pictures of me, Jason, your mom, and your dad inside."

My eyes start to well again, but they are forced to leave. A big hug for each of them, and they're off. Leaving me all alone.

About five minutes later, the Peacekeeper escorts me to a car. I just sit there, trying to hear my parents and friends outside.

It brings me to a train, which will take me to the Capitol.

As I enter, I have to feel for the door so I won't run into a wall or off the train. I hear the end of a funny conversation. "Kid, that isn't strawberry juice! It's alcohol, now put it away!" I can't help but stifle a snicker. Is Chris drinking alcohol?

I sit down, and hear feet coming towards me. Zeus – heavy shoes give him away each time. He starts talking, but when he notices I'm not listening to him, he stops. Good choice.

A while later, a mentor – I guess – comes in. Apparently, he's covered in boils, by the soft squishing sound that happens when he sits down. Gross!

We sit in silence for what feels like forever, and eat snacks until supper. Capitol food. Fancy, but I find district food a little tastier. There's a swishing sound and some giggles, and then it stops, but not for long. It stops again, and I hear footsteps. The swishing is now to my left.

I leave. I run until I find the washroom, and take a nice hot shower. My mentor is waiting to show me which room is mine. I find a comfy nightie and jump in bed for a long sleep.

* * *

**Christopher Silver****, 16 ~ District 6 Male**

**Pax Cronin**

I feel a pain in my side as I roll out of bed in the morning; the night before, I had to work an extra three hours on a hovercraft for the Peacekeepers. I groan as I jab my finger where the worst of the pain is, trying to stop it. I give up, and remain on the floor; I stare at my ceiling; posters of famous celebrities adorn the normally white room. I feel comfortable here, looking up at the colorful posters. I fantasize about being one of them: famous, money galore.

But I'm just a painter's son, and I can't even paint. Or as my dad calls it, 'expressing your innermost thoughts and feelings towards a human, thing, or landscape'. How do I know this? He repeats it twenty times a day. Sometimes, I feel all my dad cares about is painting – ever since my mom died, that is.

My mom, Clarisse, was such a happy woman, full of color and bliss; she was an important part of many lives. So when her death came, it was a shock and a terror for all. She was a strong supporter of the rebels. She believed that everyone deserved to have their own way of thinking, and their own way to govern themselves. That doesn't sit well with the Capitol. So one day when she was openly protesting in the district square, she was shot by a Peacekeeper. I can see the exact place where she was standing from my room. Ever since then, I've been afraid of Peacekeepers, their white uniforms, bold black guns, and shiny boots that could make a blind man see his reflection.

My stomach growls. I wriggle around, trying to find a painless way to sit upright and eventually stand. After a couple minutes of banging my head on the bedposts, I slowly make my way to the kitchen, holding my side tightly.

I open my bedroom door to find that the living room has been stripped of all its tan and green wallpaper and matching furniture. Now there is just a blank canvas reaching to the wood-planked ceiling.

I walk in, dazed. "Dad?"

I try to figure out what crazy plan he has come up with now. I walk over and feel the canvas – no paint marks or signs of erases. I make my way to the back of the canvas to find my skinny father passed out, purple and green paint splattered on his smock and face. I don't bother to wake him up; he'll be awake for the reaping.

I make myself some light toast. I would usually have eggs, but my father has decided to sell his paintings only to citizens of the Capitol, which is a terrible business plan because no one ever visits from there. I sit alone in silence while I eat; I'm used to this, my dad barely pays attention to anything but his "work" and that cute neighbor girl who sells him colors to paint with. He always makes these gross plays with her, complimenting her hair, her eyes. But she's, like, nineteen, while he's forty. He's a pig – there, I said it. My own father: a pig. Disgusting, he never washes, he wastes away to nothing because he refuses to eat until his painting is done, and he pursues younger women! When I was younger, kids at school would look up to their dads. I don't; I resent him.

After my breakfast of toast, I stumble into my room, where I look up at the celebrities, wondering what they're doing. What they're thinking. I think about one day, how I could be a celebrity like them, having kids literally look up to me.

I hear the bell signaling that the morning shift at the factories is over. It also functions as the way for citizens to know when they must be at the district square. I sigh as the tone fades out. Now I have to get dressed. I stand up, clutching my gut hard. As fast as I can, I pull my white button-down shirt over my body and my black slacks over my legs. I leave my shoes untied; I can't deal with the pain that I'll feel if I have to bend down to tie them.

As I am about to leave, I look at my father, still passed out on the floor. I shake my head – the Peacekeepers won't be happy to see him there. I debate for a while whether to leave him or wake him up. I'm not a bad person, and he is my father. So I tap him on the back with my shoe, careful for it not to fall off. He groans as he slowly awakens. I sigh.

"Dad, you're going to be late for the reaping!" I say loudly.

When the word 'reaping' slips off my tongue, he's already out the door, no 'thank you's or anything.

Instead of running, I walk to the square, hoping to see my best friend Lillith. We've been friends for seven years, ever since she invited me to a playground version of the Hunger Games, not knowing the real meaning. We would just run around and scream, "Got you! You're dead!" and then there would be fights about who was right and who was wrong. I laugh about one time where I fell and Lillith helped me up; it was the first time I ever noticed her. Her strawberry hair and pale skin make her look younger, even today.

I feel someone grab me from behind – it's Lillith. "Hey, so you ready for this reaping?" she says excitedly.

"Not really, Lils'," I say in return. "There is always that chance."

"That slim-to-none chance that you could be reaped?"

"Yeah, that one."

Lillith and I both go to the sixteen-year-old age group, but we are separated. I feel so scared without her comforting laughs and jokes. I search for her in the crowd.

"May the odds be ever in your favor," she mouths sarcastically from three rows back.

I chuckle, and then direct my attention to the front where the escort for District 6, Zeus Halls, steps up in a stunning yellow suit that radiates light on all of us. His hair is combed to resemble a bolt of lightning, even with the matching color. He struts over to the microphone set up for him, and begins to speak with his Capitol accent: "Welcome to the reaping for the honor of representing District Six in the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games! As always, let's pick our lucky lady first!" He swishes his hand around in the bowl full of girls' names. I shake, thinking of Lillith being picked. I bite my lip as he unfolds the paper. "Cecelia Trimble!"

The square goes cold, and everyone is silent to see this mysterious Cecelia. I surely haven't met her. I hear a strong, terrible laugh from a boy in the thirteen-year-old section. I look over and see the girl who was reaped. She is pale like a ghost as she inches to the stage. I hear a scream from the crowd; we all turn around.

"Cecelia, no!" cries a woman. Must be her mother.

A man has just been escorted out. We have a tight-knit family here.

As Cecelia reaches the steps, she gracefully removes her shoe and pegs it at the laughing boy! The crowd gasps in horror, all thinking the same thing: 'What is she capable of?

A man has just been escorted out. We have a tight-knit family here.

As Cecilia reaches the steps, she gracefully removes her shoe and pegs it at the laughing boy! The crowd gasps in horror, all thinking the same thing: 'What is she capable of?'

As she finally gets to where Zeus is standing, she proceeds to punch him in the gut, quickly bringing him to the floor. She stands a few feet away, arms behind her back as if nothing happened, but I can see her - she's clearly upset; she's wiping tears from her eyes.

"And now," says Zeus in a pained tone, "for the boys!" He clenches his gut just like I did this morning, and he reaches for the first piece of paper he can find. "Christopher Silver!"

No, no, that can't - that can't be! My legs are locked to the ground, but I know I must move.

I slowly step out from the crowd and walk to the stage; I climb the stairs and reach Zeus.

I look to the crowd and nod.

"How do you feel, Chris?" Zeus says, still in pain.

"Honored," I say silently. But inside I am breaking down, my heart is going to explode. I can't bring myself to look at Lillith; she will already be in tears.

I bow my head, and I am rushed inside the Justice Building and thrown into a bright room with dark mahogany wall panels and red carpets. There is a couch, and a desk with a chair. This was clearly an office thirty years ago.

Moments later, my dad is brought into the room with me.

"Chris!" he says, embracing me. He's never hugged me before. "This - room - is. . ." Oh no, not this again. "PERFECT!" He takes out a little knife and cuts off a sliver of mahogany panel, and places it into a baggy.

"Dad, I was reaped," I say, trying to snap him out of whatever trance he's in.

"Son, I know that!" he says. "Think about the opportunity this will be for me to create a whole line of paintings for remembrance! Son, I need you to take this baggy with you - use it to take grasses, sand, etc. from the arena. This will be great!" He hands me the bag.

"Listen to me!" I yell as he tries to take samples of the carpet. "Damn it, Dad, stop!" My throat hurts as the noise erupts like a volcano from my mouth. "Dad, I could die and you wouldn't mind. If I threw out one of your paintings, you would flip and have a crying fit for days!" It feels good to tell him off like that.

My dad just looks at me. He then turns around and exits, slamming the door behind him.

I sit down on the couch and scream. I hope these walls are soundproof; if not, Cecelia will have to have heard everything.

Lillith is the next and probably last one to visit. As she opens the door, I run over and hug her, tears running down our faces. I don't want to let go, never in a million years. We embrace the whole time, until a Peacekeeper says we have one minute.

"Chris, you have to face this like a champion," she says.

"I will face it with courage," I say.

"Just like you did when you were reaped," she says, smiling through the tears.

I nod, as the minute draws to a close and the Peacekeeper directs her out.

Moments later, I am lead to the train. I sit on a barstool, next to a bar full of colorful drinks and fruit juices; I take a spoon and taste a strawberry drink. I've only had strawberries once in my life, when my dad sold a big painting and my mother bought them. They were like nothing I had ever had before, so sweet. I immediately pour myself a glass.

Cecelia is led on to the train. I don't look at her; I don't want to get hurt like what she did to that poor escort.

Ironically, he's the next one on. He looks at Cecelia and moves over to the stool next to me.

"Uh, what are you doing with that?" he asks.

"Drinking strawberry juice," I reply.

"Kid, that isn't strawberry juice! It's alcohol, now put that away! Before the cameras see!"

I quickly pour the drink down the drain, wanting a box of strawberries.

I feel the train lurch forward, and we are quickly leaving the station, the wilds of Panem flying past. About ten minutes later, our mentors come in.

My mentor has to be led in by an Avox and then gently rested onto a couch. I am reluctant to go over, but Zeus gives me a look. He stares into space. He's only thirty-seven, so I don't know why he's acting this way. Then I get a closer look: his skin is yellow, with warts all over his body. Disgusting! I inch away from him slowly. No one in the coach talks. No one says a word. There's the occasional sneeze from Zeus, who is buried in a book. Other than that, nothing.

As dinner is served, we all sit down and partake in the delicious foods of the Capitol. The hot soups, ice-cold drinks, stuffed chicken, and hot fudge cake, all delectable!

At this point, my mentor has taken out a brush and dipped it into his cup of hot fudge. He proceeds to paint his hand. Zeus drops his fork and stares, as do the rest of us. When the brush runs out, he dips it into other people's cups, first mine; he starts to paint my cheek, making it a deep brown by the time he goes for another dip. I leave the room. As I look back, I see him turn to Cecelia's mentor - he begins to paint her face! I begin to think that I'm going to be alone in these Games.


	7. District Seven Reapings

**Newbie's A/N: **We have a fan forum now! We invite all or our readers to head on over there and talk a little, and hopefully vote later.

Here's the link: forum/Blood_Dreams_Fan_Forum/114790/

* * *

**Keelyn Aponte****, 16 ~ District 7 Female**

**ILIKEPIZZA123**

WHOOSH. . .

A fierce wind blows through the many, many trees of the forests of District 7, sounding as if it is singing a sad, ominous song. Trying to warn us. The wind is correct, for today is the day of the reaping.

Thousands of frightened and anxious people file into the square, awaiting this year's tributes. Below the platform, footsteps on the hard and rocky gravel disappear. Everyone is here. I stand, dutifully silent, amongst the other sixteen-year-olds.

The reaping is about to begin.

The normal stuff occurs. The mayor, the victors, and whatnot. Then, lastly, the drawings.

I know as soon as Rhinestone Blue somehow leaps onto the stage, sporting seven-to-eight-inch heels and blue...everything. For as long as I've attended the reapings, Rhinestone has been our escort. And every year, she sports a new color; she changes her last 'name' to match. Obviously, this year's is blue. Every outrageously bright and noticeable blue you can imagine.

I do exactly what I did at this moment for the past four years. So far, it has worked. I stare unblinkingly at the hands of Rhinestone (she has curved talons painted a bright neon blue) – hands that decide my fate. Then, silently in my head, I pray and beg to whoever oversees these stupid reapings not to pick me. I know there are kids in the richer districts (like 1 and 2) who have trained their whole lives for this. I have no chance. Not the tiniest sliver.

"Ladies first!" I recoil at the new shriek-like voice Rhinestone possesses. It must another one of those in comprehensibly silly trends in the Capitol.

She reaches into the reaping bowl, digging around slowly for a dramatic measure...she pulls out a small slip of paper and opens it, taking her time as the citizens of District 7 hold their breath.

Rhinestone opens her mouth (covered in a glittery blue lipstick), and yells out:

"Keelyn Aponte!"

Oh no. . .I freeze and gasp, loud enough for everyone to hear.

I flash back to the wildfire. All the people who earned their living by chopping down trees and such lost money. Infuriated, my selfish father punched me in the chest. Hard. He also slapped me across the face. I spent that terrible week trying to earn money by doing unwanted jobs, living in terror of what my father would do to me if I didn't. Add those feelings up, and you'd get how I feel right now. My eyes, which have widened to the size of ping-pong balls, realize many people are staring at me. It's me. I'm the female tribute for District 7.

Somehow, I brush my long, dark hair back and start taking slow steps towards the stage. Rhinestone offers a hand to help me up, and I reach out blindly, taking it. I feel like the world is spinning like a top. The only thought that keeps me from fainting and toppling over (which would be highly embarrassing) is that there is a tiny chance that someone will volunteer and spare my life. I can feel Rhinestone's claw-like nails pressing into my skin, no doubt drawing blood. Still, I don't wince.

On stage, I mentally curse whoever decided my fate. Thanks a lot, I think.

I turn my pleading green eyes on the crowd as Rhinestone calls for volunteers. Desperately, I whip my head back and forth, searching for anyone who would be kind enough. Silence. It's all I hear. Silence. It's like someone has ripped open my heart, emptying it of all hope. It takes me a few moments to absorb the shock. There goes my life. . .Great. I find each and every one of my closest friends, including my eighteen-year-old sister Haley. All are staring at the ground, obviously unwilling to make eye contact with me. I can feel the hopelessness of being deserted. If I ever get back, they will pay.

I barely take notice of the rest of the reaping, still getting over the shock. The male tribute...someone named Jake Hall. I take notice that he is fourteen, but that's about it.

After the reapings, Peacekeepers escort me into the Justice Building. Now is the time for people to visit me. The traitors come.

First is my father, who has always hated me. Even though he never says it, it's obvious he only keeps me for the money I earn. I put on my best "I-hate-you" face. I train my cold and sharp eyes on him. There's no way he came to actually say goodbye. The only times he even acknowledges me is when he and his stupid life are involved.

"What do you want?"

He narrows his eyes in displeasure. "Just coming to say if you win, I get half the money."

I stare, disgusted, at my father. The greedy, stupid, heartless, and cruel hunk of meat standing before me that I call my father. I know that if I win, he's not getting one single coin from me. See how well he manages on his own. "Whatever, you big fat oaf. Now get out of my sight or I'll slap you so hard, you'll be seeing stars for a week."

He smirks and starts laughing. "Right...and just for good luck..." He puts on his stupid grin and punches me in the nose, hard. Which made it bleed like a river and into my mouth. I taste the iron-like taste of my blood and gag. Disgusting.

I am just about to scratch the life out of him with my fingernails when the Peacekeepers come and take him away, still laughing his overly big head off. I growl, and my fists instinctively ball up. I silently scream a long line of swear words in my head.

Well, at least he's gone. But – if I want to live – not forever.

Next my sister, Haley, strolls in. I immediately turn away, the feeling of desertion fresh in my heart. For what feels like centuries, the room is filled with an awkward silence.

"How could you?" I speak in such a quiet voice, I am not sure she can hear me. It is filled with many emotions. Sadness, anger and longing.

She has the decency to turn away. "I had to."

I finally look at her, and see she is not lying. "Why?" I ask, tears welling up in my eyes.

"I have a life to live." She bites her lip. "I'll be so happy if you can make it back." Haley looks at me, tearful, and my stomach is twisted with guilt. How could I have ever been angry at her? "Please try. . ." She gives me the pleading look I have never been able to refuse.

"I will, I promise." Then another thought appears. "But what about Dad?" I ask, knowing that Haley hates our father almost as much as I do, and that he will blame her if I die.

Her face contorts into a look I've never seen on it. A cold, hard, menacing look. "I'll deal with him."

I hear the footsteps of the approaching Peacekeepers. Haley does too. She stands and says to me, "Remember about your promise." And she is whisked away without another word.

I sit on the cold, hard bench, silently wishing I hadn't promised Haley I would try to win. Between us, a promise made has to be kept. I am so absorbed in my thoughts that I don't notice my third visitor come in.

It's the mayor's son. I am confused into speechlessness. He is the first to speak.

"Hi." He runs his hand through his short brown hair nervously. His skin seems paler today.

I go back in my life, trying to remember if I did anything that made him come visit me on this horrible day. I remember seeing him at school, and that his name is Ethan. Ethan Apollis. But that's it. I realize I still haven't answered him.

"Hi."

I see him swallow shakily. "Ummm...just coming to bring some bad news."

I raise an eyebrow. "What?" I ask, even though I am pretty sure I don't want to hear it.

He looks at the ground, shuffling his feet. "Er...well, the Peacekeepers found your mother's body buried about ten miles in the woods behind your house." He bites his lip. "I'm sorry."

My eyes widen to an enormous size for the second time. I manage to get rid of the lump forming in my throat.

"They found a knife in her chest."

My mouth drops open. "What?"

I grit my teeth. My mother, my sweet, kind mother, was murdered by some stupid idiot with a mental problem. Then a candle lights in my head. A suspect. "Any evidence about who it was?"

He looks up, obviously expecting me to burst into tears, but recovers himself and says, "Uh. . .let's see." He tilts his head up, eyebrows furrowed, trying to remember something. "Yes...there were some letters engraved on the handle of the knife."

I gasp, and eagerly lean forward. "Can you remember the letters?"

He stares at me thoughtfully. "Yeah. I think they were the letters 'S, L, M, A'."

My voice deadly quiet, I ask him the last question I need to know the answer to: "Did it have a blood-red handle?"

"Yes." My hand goes to my mouth, unable to utter a single word. "It was."

Then, despite all this mysteriousness, another question pops into my head. I tilt my head to the side and ask, "Why didn't someone else come tell me, like your father?"

He blushes a deep red. "I - I volunteered to go instead of Dad."

"You - you wanted to come?"

He nods. "Mmmhmm..."

The Peacekeepers then come and lead him out the door, still tomato-red.

_Huh?_ I think. _He wanted to come._ My intellect begins to add in answers. When I get it, I blush. He must like me. Yuck.

But more importantly, my father killed my mother. He is going down...

Then I see the reapings on TV. All the tributes look stronger than me. More handy with weapons than me. Now I really have no chance.

I am devastated. The tears that have been waiting to spill from the moment my name was called fall silently down my face. If I didn't apply for tesserae to save money (for my father, so he wouldn't hurt me), maybe I wouldn't have been chosen. But, since I was chosen and I made a promise to Haley, I must try for the victor's crown.

My sadness is immediately replaced with the determination to get revenge against my foul, filthy, twisted father. Part of the sudden determination and lack of fear includes the fact that Haley is going to be bloody every moment from when I die to the end of her life (which, if my father continues his need for luxuries, will not be very far). I don't believe what Haley said is true. She can't deal with him. Even the Peacekeepers can't deal with him.

Knowing this, I push all the fears I have into nonexistence. If I am to save Haley from suffering a very painful death, I need to return home. I begin to plan my actions from now to the end of the Hunger Games, calculating and predicting reactions and possible sponsors as I walk out to the train.

I wait for the train at the platform, forgetting to stop the trickle of blood running from my nose. The cameras catch everything, and the people in the Capitol see it. They think –_ No one is hurt this early in the Hunger Games_...but I care about nothing. I just need to get home.

* * *

**Jake Hall****, 14 ~ District 7 Male**

**CallMeMockingjay**

The world…is dead. Have you ever thought this? I have. The world is dead, the lands crushed, the people who are not twisted mourning over it or something awful it has caused.

No, don't shut me off now. Let me tell you my story gradually as I go through it. Who knows what might happen? Don't want to miss it, do you? Really, I could save this broken world, and only the faithful people who stick through and I might know. I know I can be a little rude…but don't worry. I was once worth it. Maybe I can be again.

Back to my previous thoughts. The world is crushed, torn, lost. We're all lost causes out here, unless we become sick and cruel like our rulers. Everyone grieves about the broken world, the lost souls, and the shredded minds.

I was a lost cause—meaning I was one of the few sound, good ones left.

When I first realized all this - when I was still good - I thought that through all I'd been through, I would have to be incorruptible.

Time went on. I became surer of being incorruptible. My life was draining down, down, down. I didn't know what to do. I tried to commit suicide, and I failed. I failed miserably, and I wish I hadn't. I wish it would've worked, because this—this awful reality is worse than death by my own hands, death in the most cowardly and yet the most brave way I can think of.

But I never gave up. I pushed forward, and dragged low each day. Then my mind fluttered back to my catchphrase of sorts, about the broken world and the way the sound ones grieve, always grieving. So, I decided, why not just become unsound? Why not give up and become one of those twisted, sick fools in my own way? Because I was not being frilly-frilly like those male Capitolians.

Nothing would effect me anymore, and still doesn't—or so you think. I like people to think that I don't care anymore. I always have. But after the Awful Event that happened, it's become everything in me. Compassion never shows. I don't seem like I care about a damn thing, when all I can think of is grieving, and missing my family.

Because the Awful Event was my parents…being murdered. In the last month-and-a-half since I unpurified myself, I shut out my sister too. And I miss her so much, but I'm not giving in, not even at home. My new reputation is for the world to see. Especially my backstabbing friends who ran away when I pulled a prank that got me kicked off the wrestling team. I miss wrestling.

Due to that prank, I now have lots of community service.

Speaking of which…I drag myself out of my black-covered bed. In my closet is an array of clothes. It's still half an hour before I have to set up the reaping for community service. My sister is probably out with her friends. She gave up on me a while ago. Since I'm alone, I step out of my room, still in shorts and a t-shirt that I slept in.

Outside, the hall is lighted with colors from sun-catchers my mom taught my sister Cynthia and I to make before she died. There are windows on both sides. My eyelids brim with wetness. Continuing through the hall, I see things that brought pangs of guilt and sadness before I unpurified myself.

The next door I see is one that hasn't been touched in years. I enter the room. And everything bursts at me with a passion.

"Hi, Mom," I whisper. "Hi, Dad. I, um, know I haven't been great lately, but…I miss you guys—a lot." That's when I fall to the floor, and start to sob. On the table next to me is a pin…the pin my mother always wore, but forgot to wear that day. I start to sob harder. I pick up her axe pin and attach it to my shirt.

"Jake," a tentative voice behind me says. I snap up, seeing my sister. Angry with her for finding out about this, I put on my best I-hate-you face. "Jake, it's okay, I really promise, and—"

"You can't promise anything! Mom and Dad—they promised they'd always be there for us, and, Cynthia, they're _dead_!"

Her soft smile turns sympathetic. I hate sympathy. "It's all right. Everything's going to be all right, one way or another."

I barge out of the room. Running to mine with a determined look, ready to kill anyone and anything, I open the door and look in my closet. I can hear the news announcer live in my home district saying, "These two"—she had motioned to my parents—"are the bodies of murdered Josephine and Taylor Hall."

I close that from my mind, and wipe the pathetic tears from my eyes. Dress in simple blue-jean pants perfect for lumber work, a gray t-shirt, and a white jacket for when it's reaping time. Then I coil my fists and punch the wall next to my closet as hard as I can. Being a wrestler and a lumber worker, I am fairly strong for my age: fourteen. So I'm not surprised when I pull my bloody knuckles from the wall and find a large hole.

"Jake!" Cynthia yells from the other room, and I hear her running to me. It's a one-story house, so I open my window and crawl out. I run as fast as I can. Cynthia is crying, looking at me from the window. "Jake Hall, get back here now!" The tears streaming down her face make her less menacing.

Inside me, I know that I'm never coming back ever again.

I dart through a shortcut in the woods that are currently being cut down, and find myself at the Justice Building in half an hour. I look at the dirty, dusty, blank stage. I want to be up there today. "Everything's going to be all right, one way or another." My sister was right: Everything will be all right. Because I'm going to volunteer, and…I'm going to either die, or become the richest and most popular victor alive. That's what I want—need—to happen.

"Jake!" I hear a familiar deep voice call harshly across the lot. I look to see a man dressed in white, washing off part of the reaping stage. "Sweep the stage, then come back to me. You've got a lot of work, this being your last day and all."

"Yeah," I mutter, so quietly that I know that Peacekeeper Lukas Frayed can't hear me, "and maybe my last day in District Seven—ever."

I turn and head over to the shed near the stage that I know all too well from cleaning the square before. I grab the broom. I sweep and sweep, the slight noise the broom makes fluttering to my ears. It drives me crazy…or - crazier, I guess. I'm not exactly sure that every fourteen-year-old boy is as dark as me. I am shadowy, shutting the world out and only missing it with small pangs every once in a while.

It's a life I hate. It's a life I shouldn't have to live.

But I have no other choice.

_Swish, swish. Swish, swish._ Really, this noise, when heard every day, would drive anyone mad. Madder. But when all I can do is think that in a matter of weeks, I could be dead, I could join my lost family members in death, it makes it worse. And something in the tone of Cynthia's voice, the glint in her eyes, leads me to believe that she knew when I fled from my room that somehow I wouldn't come back.

Some might question me volunteering, correct? I barely have a chance, isn't that so?

Think of it this way: Choice A, dropping off the face of the Earth. Pros—I get to be alone and do what I like, and no one will care. I'll be perfectly, extremely free—for a while. And then I'll blissfully die. Cons—it won't last as long as I'll want. Soon, I'll be dead, or hunted and as good as dead, or arrested.

Choice B, volunteering for the Hunger Games. Pros—I can do something as blissful as die. Or I can set a new life up and become rich and famous. Known as brutal. See, if I volunteer, I have a chance at living.

"Jake!" Peacekeeper Frayed screams. "Hurry and set the podium up!"

For the next hour as I tirelessly work, all I can hear is, "Jake!" "Jake!" "Jake!" "Jake, do this!" "Jake, do that!"

Then I finally hear the best thing all day so far: "Jake, you're free to go."

I walk off, feeling like my name's been used so much that it's become meaningless gibberish in my head. I don't know where to go now; the clock in the square tells me I have about two hours before the reaping begins.

I know this one place that's someone else's property—a big hot-shot that has "connections from the Capitol", and is damn rich. In the corner, a big house and a lake sit atop a hill, concealed by trees. There are three guesthouses, and so the whole family's been living on the property for years and years. But no one seems to remember its lake. The place is concealed, way on the edge of the district (even farther than the Victor's Village), and no one ever comes to it. A raging fire brought down the area years and years back. I go there all the time. Since I have nowhere else, I decide that's where I belong today.

I get there pretty quick after picking a bike lock and stealing a bike. No cameras, no people, perfect crime. I pedal hard and fast, trying to go down alleys and stay hidden. Once I'm finally in the scorched field of nothingness that once was a stream of houses and shops, it's harder to hide. But no one's in this graveyard of ashes. Hell, barely anyone is out at all. So it's easy to speed through.

The fence isn't that tall, and it's not the district fence and therefore not electrified. I lift the bike over and put it in the shrubbery. Then I slither over and fall in a patch of thorns. I climb out as quiet as possible and clap a hand over my mouth, so I don't cuss at the top of my lungs. Breathing in and out, I continue moving.

"Well, huh," I whisper after a minute, "look at this. Mr. Perfect-Boy Me has committed two crimes in one day: theft and breaking onto someone else's property. Great job, Jake, you're a model citizen." I try not to laugh.

The lake is in the middle of the small woods, five minutes from where I stand. I start off on a sprint and practice for the Games. I get there in what I assume is three minutes.

Breathing in the fresh air, I notice other breathing. Debunking it as an animal, I sit calmly, smiling stiffly at the raw beauty of this place, something even I could recognize.

"You aren't supposed to be here."

I jump about eight miles back.

Standing and on guard to lunge at a split second's notice, I look around, seeing no one. I narrow my eyes and tell myself I'm delusional today, due to its events and the memories it's brought back, especially the new wave of grief about the Awful Event.

I sit and have a staring contest with a frog. It turns and tries to catch a fly.

I win, I think to myself.

"Seriously."

This time I about fall into the lake. Now I know someone's here.

A girl steps out from behind a tree. She smiles a girlish smile. Her pretty red locks complement her azure-blue eyes. Her pink sundress is dirty and ripped at the right sleeve. Her eyes are filled with new discoveries and excitement, like she's just been on an extravagant adventure and the lake and I are the best things she's ever seen.

"But I won't tell no one," she promises. I hate promises. "I'm Emma. Emma Lakestone."

Lakestone…Lakestone…this is the Lakestones' land. Great, she's a conceited snob and she's going to try and kiss me, then run off and tell on me like a freaking tattle-tale whiner. I set my gaze on a sleeping turtle—I think it's sleeping—and make my face angry. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see her smile and come closer. She looks about my age when up close.

"I swear…on my life. If I break it, then I'll…I'll volunteer, or get reaped, or something," she says in a small voice. "Look at me, will you? I'm not all bad. I love it out here. It's awesome."

"Cool," I mutter.

"Hey, I'll tell you what," she whispers, excited, a tinge of spoiled air in her voice. "You talk to me, or I'll report you. I think I know you from that great prank…attempting to shut down all the computers at school. You're already in trouble, and I know how to describe you, down to an exact detail."

"Hello, Your Royal Highness," I snarl, turning to her. "My Lady. What should we talk about? My imminent death? My life ever since my parents were murdered? How about your great life up there, while people like my sister and I die? There, I talked—you can't report me now."

"I won't! Imminent death?" she calls, as I walk toward the bike I hid in the bushes a ways away.

"You'll see at the reaping." My back is facing her. I sprint off, in search of any sort of a break. But I can't get one of those, can I? Not today.

Luckily, I make it past the shrubs and the fence unnoticed. But out in the scorched village, Peacekeepers scour the area. I leave the bike behind the ruins of a brick building that was a doughnut shop when I was seven - the year before the fire.

I crouch, and crawl behind a short row of trees and a bunch of lumberjacks' axes placed deep in the trees, so that only they could draw them out. It's stupid, because other strong people could steal your axe, and then where would you be? Broke. But it's regulation for that lumber company. I crawl past them slowly, and then do one of those tricks, one of the most classic in the book: I throw a rock far back. The Peacekeepers—all but three—go and run.

Great, I think. They're smart, and had some stay back.

But fortunately for me and unfortunately for them, they can't perfectly choreograph their movements, and I wait for when all their backs are turned. I don't have much time before the reaping, and without the bike it'll take an hour to get there, but I can't just go and risk getting caught. Surely they're searching for a kid dressed like me, with a bike like the one I ditched. I wonder how someone saw me long enough to realize it wasn't my bicycle and rat on me.

Once, at about forty-five minutes until the reaping, all their backs are turned. I dart as fast as possible to behind blackened houses that got the least damage. Each time no one's looking, I dart to the next house.

Eventually, with thirty minutes left, they drive away in their fancy car. I exhale a deep breath and run through as many shortcuts as possible, not stopping after my legs burn and my chest heaves. I'll be late, that's for sure, but maybe I can be not-so late - to where I get minimum punishment.

Yeah, right.

My heart is pounding and my side is cramped. I'm about to hurl and faint and scream all at once when I see Peacekeepers coming straight for me.

"Jake Hall," says one—a man with dark hair and a grayish-brown beard. His eyes are a striking icy blue, and they hold no emotion, as if he were a robot. I wouldn't think of it as below the Capitol for them to make robots and dress them like Peacekeepers, programming them to be like humans. "You will receive a severe punishment after the reaping," he goes on, "for theft, breaking onto another's property, and being late to this important public event."

"If I'm not reaped," I remind them, a smirk in my eyes but not on my face. "Very well. Though I'm sure you have no certain proof, because I know I got stuck somewhere traveling here, and after my 'big prank', I'd never steal or commit such a crime, sir. But I'll take the fall. Now please, may I sign in before the reaping starts?"

He narrows his eyes at me. "Your punisher will talk to you afterwards." He steps out of the way. "Go."

I detect no mechanism in his voice. Too bad. That would've have been cool to know if I ever come back. I doubt I will, but hey, you never know.

I hurry to the signing-in desk, where an impatient Peacekeeper waits. I smile halfheartedly and almost rudely, and let her prick my finger. Then I walk as slow as possible to the fourteen-year-old section as the mayor reads the Treaty of the Treason.

I look over out of curiosity and boredom for a second, trying to appear uncaring. And what I see makes me want to groan: Two people over, the girl who must've ratted on me for getting on her family's land stares like she wants to stab me in the throat. I hope she gets reaped, so I can stab her in the throat.

The escort, whom I never pay attention to, cries out, "Ladies first!" in an ear-splitting, shrill shriek that makes me want to coil my fists and punch her. Her hand darts in the bowl as I imagine this. I watch her read the name, wanting for it to be the red-haired girl from the lake. "Keelyn Aponte!"

Too bad. A loud "Emma Lakestone!" would've been nice.

A girl from the sixteen-year-olds' section steps up. Oh, great, a sixteen-year-old, I think. Why couldn't I get a break and it be a twelve-year-old? But I'm not backing down on volunteering. No one can stop me. I am dead-set on this, and sometimes I can be as stubborn as all get out. All the time, I can be as stubborn as all get—

"Jake Hall!"

Rhinestone Blue's words surprise me. Huh, this'll be easier than I thought. I indifferently step onto the stage, and glare at the forest in the distance that I presume is the red-haired girl's home. What a snob; I really wish it was her, and not this Keelyn.

We shake hands, and then are ushered into the Justice Building. I notice on the way how hard the Peacekeeper is gripping my shoulder, and allow myself a faint smile.

In my little visiting room, Cynthia shows up almost the minute the door closes. Weeping, she looks like a complete mess. "You can't leave me. I can't lose you, too, Jake. It was the worst thing ever when you ran away earlier. I can't be alone. I don't care how many times I said I wanted to before Mom and Dad died, I just couldn't. Please."

"No promises," I answer harshly.

"You have to try!" she screeches, tears making her pretty eyes that are just like my grass green ones red and puffy. Hers are girlier, just like her wavy dark brown hair is longer and girlier than my curly brown mop. "For them," she whispers.

Her eyes fall on the pin. Her hand runs across it.

"The perfect token." She smiles. "You can do it, Jake."

And that's when she has to leave. No one else is coming—I know that. I know that with all my heart. No one else cares about me anymore, let alone are they coming to say goodbye to me. So I'm left alone until the unforgiving, unfeeling cyber-Peacekeepers grip my shoulder tight and take me away.

I walk to the train absent-mindedly.

In the train, Keelyn and the mentors—who I pay no mind to—await. One smiles politely, and then turns around toward the bar.

As he does so, I sigh and turn towards the sitting area where the TV is. Flipping it on, I see the reapings and decide to watch them. The Capitol announcer says this and that, and I tune him out until the reapings finally begin.

Of course, first up is District 1. A volunteer fight breaks out for the males, and the girl looks weak, kind of. For a Career. District 2's female is quiet and forgetful. Another weak girl, for a Career. Then District 3, where a "heroic" guy volunteers and a girl gets reaped. Whoop-tee. District 4's female is _definitely_ a Career; the male is, too. District 5 is dull…until smoke shows up and insanity makes its way to the stage. A message that I pay no mind to appears on the screen. Before District 5 can resume, I flip off the television and pound down to my room, wiped and not in the mood to meet anyone new.

But it's hard to sleep. My mind is going crazy. My heart's beating rapidly. My head aches feverishly. I'm hot and sweaty and have to kick down the blanket once I've flopped on my bed for about five minutes. So far, I've been here…maybe thirty minutes? And already, this place is getting on my every last nerve. I sigh and close my eyes tight. It's going to take more than that.


	8. District Eight Reapings

**Twilla Applestone,**** 12 ~ District 8 Female**

**Clara Meliza**

* * *

_Goodbye to you_

_Goodbye to everything I thought I knew_

_You were the one I loved_

_The one thing that I tried to hold on to_

_The one thing that I tried to hold on to_

* * *

The delicious smell of breakfast wafting through my nostrils brings me out of my dreamless sleep. Turning my head to the side, my eyelids flutter open and a small yawn escapes my mouth. I lay in the middle of my parents' bed, both of their sides cold, indicating that I must have slept in and they are already very much awake. Propping myself up on my elbow, I squint and search the bright room for my younger siblings, curled up together on our second bed. Taffie, the oldest, aging at a mere seven years, has her small arms wrapped around Dennie and Velvet, shielding them from the horrible day ahead of us.

Reaping day.

My first of many, and as much as I try to hide it—for everyone's sake—I am beyond terrified. What will happen to my family if I am reaped? "You'll be okay, Twilla," I tell myself. "You'll be okay. What are the chances? You'll be okay."

"Ah," a familiar voice says out of nowhere, causing a tiny squeak to leave my lips. "Talking to herself—the first sign of insanity."

Rolling my eyes playfully, I climb out of bed and make my way to our tiny makeshift kitchen. Mother is by the stove, swirling a spoon around whatever concoction she plans on feeding us. Behind her is Father, his arms wrapped around her waist and his hairy chin resting on her shoulder. Pressing a kiss to her cheek, he whirls around to face me.

Gingham Applestone is a burly thirty-four-year-old, his arms enlarged after working in the factories since he was my age. Much like my sisters, Father has brown skin, brown eyes, and curly brown hair. Like those chocolate bars the sweet shop sell, the treat that Denim so desperately asks for but we can never afford. He may act all tough, but Father is truly a kid at heart, his eyes warm and inviting. Ever since I was a baby, I favored him over my mother. It's nothing personal. My siblings tend to sway towards my mother, anyway.

"I am not insane," I tell him, a small smile gracing my lips. "Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about you."

A halfhearted chuckle escapes him as he strides across the room to pull me into a hug, his scratchy beard digging into my scalp. Placing a small kiss on the top of my head, he says, "Good morning, Twilly."

"S'not a good morning," I mutter, shaking my head. Maneuvering my body so I'm looking into his brown eyes (very much like mine), I see a flicker of pain, then sadness, flash through them.

"You're right, baby," Father agrees, placing another kiss on my forehead. We stay like this for a long time, just holding each other.

My mother watches the scene play out, tears pooling in her chestnut eyes. Chenille Applestone is by no means an emotional person, known to be the strongest of the Applestones, and the moment is so private that I feel the need to look away. I do.

"Twilly," says Mother, her voice thick with emotion. "Why don't you go wake your siblings while your father and I talk?"

Nodding, I extract myself from my father's warm arms, my body screaming from the loss of contact. The words "only twelve", "so young", and "unfair" are heard through my twelve-year-old ears as I make my way back to our shared bedroom, forcing a smile onto my face for their sake. I'm already scared enough for the four of us.

I walk to their bed and place kisses on their foreheads, usually enough to bring them out of their stupor. Three sets of eyes, all chocolate-brown, squint at me through the morning sun.

"It's time to get up, ladies and gentlemen!" I exclaim, causing Taffeta to flinch back. "We've got a big day ahead of us!"

I get a few blank looks. Then Velveteen, the second youngest, is the first to understand what today is. "Please don't go, Twilly," she says, hugging me tightly. "Please don't leave us!"

"Twilly leavin'?" asks Denim.

"No, no, no," I deny, sending a reassuring smile their way. It must not be very convincing, as none of them return the gesture. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise you."

"Pwomise?"

"Of course, Dennie. Would I ever lie to you?"

He gives me an innocent shake of the head, a way of saying, _"No." _

Clapping my hands together, I say, "Good," and poke Denim in the stomach, making a high-pitched giggle escape his mouth. "Now who's hungry? Mama's made us breakfast."

The rest of the morning passes by too quickly for my liking, the hours between then and the reaping getting shorter and shorter in-between. My fear only seems to multiply as the day goes on.

Mother asks me to help her bathe Taffeta, Velveteen, and Denim. I gladly accept the challenge, seeking a way to keep my mind off the horrid reaping.

"You have nothing to worry about, sweetie," assures Mother, placing a soapy hand on my shoulder. "Your seven slips are nothing compared to what the older kids have."

I nod, accepting this information gratefully. I scrub Denim and Velvet down as they splash and play in the water. The iron tub is too small to fit all three of them, so Taffeta sits beside me silently as she waits her turn.

Once Mother and I are finished cleaning the youngest ones, mentally thanking them for being cleaner than usual, I set off to help them dress into their reaping clothes while Taffeta takes her quiet bath. Velvet insists on dressing herself, but I don't let her, as she has a tendency to put everything on backwards. Father helps, too, already fully clothed and looking rather dashing in his nicest suit and tie; he gets to ensemble a mute Denim, as I try to wrestle Velveteen into her sundress.

"Now, Velvet," I sigh, exasperated. "We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. You choose."

Crossing her little four-year-old arms stubbornly, something I would have thought to be cute if it wasn't being used against me, she shakes her head and holds her yellow dress hostage. Her grip is surprisingly strong, and I find myself locking eyes with Father, pleading for him to switch places with me. As suspected, my big brown eyes cause him to thrust Denim into my waiting arms. _Every time_. I smirk.

"Come here, handsome," I say as I grab him, blowing raspberries on his too-skinny stomach. With my job at the factory, I try my best to feed my siblings and myself, but it's never enough. We're all small from malnourishment. I'm just about to slip Dennie's arm in his blue button-down when a loud knock, coming from the front of our house, bounces off the walls and into my sensitive ears. "Stay here, okay, buddy? Don't move." He nods.

On my way, I step into the washroom and check our only mirror. My hair is messy from sleep and I'm still in my floral nightgown, but nothing else seems to be wrong with me, so I answer the door. It's locked, today being reaping day and no one having to go to work. Monday and Sunday are my scheduled workdays, the other five dedicated to my studies. If it didn't have such a horrible meaning, I probably would've enjoyed the day off.

Swinging the door open, I find my shoulders relaxing. The Houndstooths, not a group of Peacekeepers coming to arrest us. Before I even have enough time to say hello, Flannel has me pulled into a bone-crushing hug, her husband, Ticking, and my two cousins standing behind her silently.

"Hi, Aunt Flanny."

Flannel Houndstooth is my mother's identical twin sister – with her auburn hair, pale skin, and brown eyes. I'm often told I look much like my mother did as a child. Their personalities are a totally different story. Mother is the strong one, her no-nonsense the complete opposite of my aunt's kind and lovable persona. They compliment each other well, though, as they are the best of friends and work together as seamstresses at the local clothery. When my sisters are all grown, I hope to have the same relationship with them as Mother and Aunt Flanny share.

After releasing me from her death grip, Flannel slides past and no doubt goes to see my mother. Probably to comfort her, much like Mother did last year for my aunt; it was Satin's and Silk's first reaping, and Flanny was all but hysterical.

My cousins look at me with knowing eyes.

"You'll be okay, Twilla," assures Satin. "It's never us, anyway."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm me," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in all of Panem. "And I'm always right."

Rolling her eyes, Silk takes my hand. "You just have to close your eyes, Twilly. It'll be over before you know it."

Nodding, feeling somewhat comforted, I let them inside and head towards the bedroom to finish dressing Denim. When I get there, Father has just finished tying Dennie's shoes, Velvet already dressed and sitting patiently on our bed. He tells me to wash up, having got it all under control. I smile at him appreciatively.

A tub of freezing cold water waits, having lost all warmth after sitting out for so long. I try not to wince as I lower myself. Mother doesn't help me like she does my siblings; the silence of the room is a little too loud. I scrub my skin until it's raw, and wash my hair. To my right, Mother has laid out a simple pink dress from her reaping days, inherited by me and most likely given to my siblings when I outgrow it. The dress is very used, and she has spent weeks trying to repair it for the occasion.

Next to it is the charm bracelet given to me for my twelfth birthday, just a few days ago. Instead of charms, there are pieces of fabric hanging from the metal circle. Each piece represents someone important in my life; a piece of silk, satin, ticking, flannel, chenille, gingham, taffeta, velveteen, denim, and lastly – a piece of twill. It is my most prized possession.

When I'm done, I drain the tub and slip into the soft fabric of my dress, putting the matching shoes on soon after. Same goes for my beloved bracelet. I towel-dry my auburn hair and pull it back into my signature bun, hardly recognizing myself in the mirror.

"You look beautiful," says Taffeta in a hushed voice. Looking over my shoulder, I find my doe-eyed sister standing behind me.

"So do you," I tell her, taking in her appearance. Taffie looks exactly like my father. She wears a dress similar to mine, only purple. Her long hair is let down and lays loose on her shoulders.

Sticking her hand out for mine, she says, "It's time."

We live fairly close to the town square, where the reaping takes place, so we don't have to walk as far as other families do. Some have get up extra early and trek for miles just to show up for the ceremony. Attendance is mandatory unless you are on death's door. If not, you'll be imprisoned.

Shops, including the clothery in which my mother works, surround the square – one of the places in District 8 that is remotely pleasant. Before I started working in the factories, I had some time to myself, and I would drag Taffeta down here and we would watch the sunset, mystified by the sky's change in colors. But now, despite the bright banners hanging from the buildings, I can't help but sense grimness in the air.

Our family files in silently, clutching each other for dear life. Mother looks emotionally exhausted, Denim perched on her hip. Father places his hand on the small of my back, smiling down at me sadly. Satin and Silk are at my sides, my hands holding theirs so tightly I wouldn't be surprised if I was cutting off their circulation. They don't complain. Velvet and Taffeta innocently wonder why everyone is so somber, but follow our lead anyway.

I try not to wince as a Capitol woman, whose nametag reads _'Florus'_, pricks my finger and wipes the sample next to _'Twilla Applestone'_, indicating that I have shown up and will participate in the reaping. I cringe, as I have never been able to handle pain well and blood has a tendency to make me nauseous. Satin and Silk must notice as my face starts turning a rather noticeable shade of green, and tug me towards the twelve-year-old section. The last thing I need is to be punished for vomiting on a Capitol citizen.

My head swivels around, searching for a familiar face. Mother and Father are standing in the third row, holding hands. Denim seems to have found me and waves his chubby hand in my direction. I try to smile, but it comes off as more of a grimace and confuses him. I wonder how much of this he truly understands.

While many family members are waiting anxiously, hoping and praying that their loved ones do not get picked, the others who do not have anyone at stake or simply do not care anymore take bets on which two unlucky children will be drawn. Odds are given on their ages, whether they're well-fed or starving, if they'll break down and weep. It's so appalling that I shake my head and look away.

I am relieved to find Satin and Silk standing close by, in front of me with the other thirteen-year-olds. They turn their blonde heads, Silk sending me a thumbs-up and motioning for me to close my eyes, her words of wisdom repeating inside my head like a mantra: _"You just have to close your eyes, Twilly. It'll be over before you know it." _I smile at her.

The space between age groups starts to get tighter, less bearable, as people arrive. The town square is quite large, but not enough to hold District 8's population of ten thousand. Latecomers are directed to adjacent streets, where they can watch the event on screens as it's televised live by the state.

The kids my age all look as if they are about to pee themselves. I feel the same way, and regret vetoing Mother's idea of a potty-break before we left the house. We exchange terrified glances, then focus our attention on the temporary stage set up before the Justice Building. Behind it is a large screen that we will no doubt be using later on. The stage holds four chairs, a podium, and two large glass balls, one for the boys and one for the girls. I stare at the countless pieces of paper in the girls' ball, begging my seven slips to stay in there and never make a reappearance.

This being my first year and all, the odds are supposedly in my favor. If I didn't have to provide for my family, I would only have my measly one slip to worry about. For my family's survival, I opted to add my name more times in exchange for tesserae. Each tessera is worth a meager year's supply of grain and oil for one person. As of today, my name is entered into the reaping bowl seven times. Once, because I had to, and six times for grain and oil for myself, Taffeta, Velveteen, Denim, and my parents. Although I love my siblings with all my heart, I can't help but resent Mother and Father for bringing so many children into this life when they so clearly couldn't provide for them.

Shaking my head, I clear it of terrible thoughts. Sitting farthest to the right is Mayor Stratton, a young, dark-haired man, his usual scowl painted onto his pale face. He's new to office, having taken over the job just a little over a year ago, after our previous mayor's death. Next to him is Ferronia Pallum, District 8's escort, in her multi-colored getup. The other two seats are reserved for our district's victors. They will spend the next few weeks mentoring the chosen tributes before they are sent into the arena. Both look as though they are dreading it, and I can't say I blame them.

Our escort steps up to the podium and begins to talk in that horribly squeaky voice of her's. "Welcome, welcome," says Ferronia Pallum, her smile bright red, as if she's been drinking blood like it's the only liquid left on Earth. A shudder runs through me, and soon enough, she's giving her signature "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" Her madly-colored hair, or should I say 'wig', starts falling into her eyes, wilting like a dying flower. It must be annoying her, as she makes several (failed) attempts to push it out of her way.

She goes on a bit about what an honor it is to be here, although everyone knows that she's spent years working her way from District 10, and we are merely an obstacle before she gets bumped up to a winning district. At this rate, Ferronia Pallum will be fifty before that ever happens. I think she knows this too – her smile falters as she scans our somber crowd for the two unlucky tributes who will be sent towards their probable deaths.

All of the sudden, Ferronia starts clapping like a toddler, and she obviously wants us to join in. When we don't, her face flushes a rather deep shade of red, matching her lipstick perfectly. Many of the older kids fail to suppress their snickers.

"All right, moving on," says the escort, pointing a manicured hand towards the screen. "We have a very special treat for you today, straight from the Capitol!"

It's the same story every year—Panem, the country that rose out of the ashes of North America. The narrator lists the disasters: the droughts, storms, fires, and encroaching seas, and the brutal war that followed soon after. They speak of the Dark Days: the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve districts were defeated. One, the thirteenth, was destroyed beyond repair. The voice continues to talk about the Treaty of the Treason, which gave us peace and, as our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, the Hunger Games. Each year, the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy (called tributes) to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be held captive in an arena, in the most inhumane conditions, and forced to kill each other. The last tribute standing wins.

I'm a pretty mellow kid and I don't get angered easily, but I can't help but feel jealous of those Capitol children, safe and happy and free to do as they please. _Why aren't _their _kids being sent to fight to the death every year?_ I ask myself, childishly. _What makes them so much better than us? Than me?_

The winner, or "victor", receives a life of ease back home, and their district will be showered with prizes, food being the most cherished item. Killing countless children while the rest of the country stands by is the small price you pay. It's hardly fair, as District 8 hasn't had a winner in twenty years and delicacies are all but non-existent.

The screen turns to black, and we're forced to give token applause, but it's not at all enthusiastic and Ferronia looks particularly frustrated about this. She steps down from the podium, and Mayor Stratton takes her place, his black eyes focusing on the paper in his hand.

Clearing his throat, he reads the list of past District 8 victors. In thirty-seven years, we have had exactly two. Both are alive. Rena Florence, a plump, middle-aged woman, sporting a thoughtful look on her pale face as she searches for her two sons, no doubt worrying for their well-being. Woof Abroforth, the other victor, sits beside her with his usual bored expression sweeping over his face. The things they experienced traumatize both – how could they not? They had to go through hell just to be here, at the reaping, alive and well. Sometimes, when everyone's asleep and Taffeta's quiet snores are the only melody throughout the house, I swear I can hear their shouts all the way from the Victor's Village.

Obviously wanting the reaping to be done and over with, the mayor motions for Ferronia Pallum to come forward once again. As the hot sun beats down, her face seems to be melting, the colors of her makeup mixing to make one weird-looking concoction. She, however, is completely oblivious and trots to the reaping balls with a skip in her step.

Through the audience, I spot Father looking at me with a ghost of a smile. I'm not surprised to find tears in his eyes, not like I was with Mother. _He's always been such a big softy,_ I think, as I feel the painful prick of tears pooling beneath my eyelids. After a few minutes of telling myself that I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry, I return my attention to the rainbow-colored escort standing next to the identical twin basins.

It's time for the drawing. Ferronia Pallum says, as she always does, "Ladies first!" and reaches into the girls' glass ball. The crowd draws in a collective breath, and now I'm starting to feel nauseous, and – oh _no_, what if I vomit all over myself?

Ferronia Pallum crosses back to the podium, smoothes the slip of paper, and opens her mouth to read the name out loud in a clear voice. I find myself doing as Silk says, clenching my eyes tightly, desperately waiting for this horrible nightmare to come to an end.

"Twilla Applestone!"

My eyelids snap open.

Velveteen is curious, finding ways to break free of our family's clutches and wander the streets alone, as if she is searching for some unknown thing that we—her traumatized loved ones—simply do not understand.

The first time she took off, I had been entrusted with babysitting my younger sisters and a newborn Denim, it being my parents' anniversary and they had scheduled plans for the evening. You can imagine my surprise when I go to bed, my baby brother sound asleep in his bassinet and my other siblings at my sides, and wake up to find my middle sister long gone, having disappeared into the night without so much as a goodbye. I had never been so scared in my entire life. The thought of Velvet, my innocent two-year-old sister, lost amongst District 8, knocked every wisp of air from my lungs, and I remember it taking me a full five minutes to return back to normal, finally able to breathe again.

My lungs fail me once again as the name—my name—bounces around inside my skull. Have I heard her wrong? Surely, I must've. As Mother said, just a few hours ago, _"You have nothing to worry about, sweetie, your seven slips are nothing compared to what the older kids have." _There is no way that I could have been reaped. No way! Everyone's eyes train on me, and I realize this is no mistake. Why else would they be looking at me with pity?

A path is made, giving me easy access to the stage, but I don't dare move my feet. Ferronia Pallum waves me over, saying, "Where are you, dear? Come on up. Don't be shy!"

I stay in place and send a frantic look. I catch sight of Father, looking as though he has been punched in the stomach repeatedly, and take an automatic step back. It must look like I'm trying to escape or something, as several Peacekeepers swarm and grab me by the arms, dragging me to the stage as if I'm a sack of potatoes. One even takes the liberty of poking me with his gun.

"Keep your hands off my child, you Capitol lapdog!" Mom fights through the crowd, screaming obscenities at anyone who dares to stop her. Thankfully, Father is able to wrestle her into his arms before she makes an even bigger scene, and she sobs into the crook of his neck instead. He motions for me to climb the stage's rickety steps.

I do as he says. The Peacekeepers return to the crowd, their heads held high, after realizing that I'm going willingly. Ferronia Pallum meets me at the top of the stairs, disapproval clear on her makeup-covered face, as if I am some unpleasant nuisance that she is forced to take responsibility for. Until I'm sent into the arena.

The thought causes my pulse to quicken, my brain to pound painfully in my skull. _No going back now,_ I think.

Despite my flustered expression, she grabs me by the shoulders and hauls both of us back towards the podium, forcing a smile as she goes to speak into the microphone. I scan the audience, landing on a tearful Silk.

"Any volunteers?"

I know I shouldn't be at all surprised when my cousins don't jump to my rescue, willingly putting their lives in danger for the sake of my own, but I can't but feel the heaviness of their betrayal as they fixate their attention on anything but me. What had I been expecting, really? Family devotion only goes so far on reaping day.

I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't do the same.

"_Sorry,"_ mouths Satin.

_That makes two of us_, I think.

"Well then," says Ferronia Pallum. As her squeaky voice echoes, causing my ears to ring painfully, I find myself concentrating on my mother's foreign sobs as Father tries to calm her. She rarely cries, let alone shows emotion_,_ so I'm still getting used to the sound. I don't like it. "I give to you—District Eight's newest female tribute, Twilla Applestone!"

The crowd gives their mandatory applause as I try my best to hold myself together. I have to be strong for my family. But the sight of Denim, clumsily clapping his hands together, just about breaks my heart in two. Taffeta and Velveteen stand beside him, confusion clear on their tan faces as they try to understand the situation. _Will they remember me?_ Taffeta, yes, but the younger ones. . .no, probably not.

"Hold onto your hats, ladies and gentlemen," says the escort, flashing that scary smile of her's. Many cringe away from her intense stare. "It's time to choose our boy tribute!"

She crosses the stage and plants her feet in front of the boys' ball, picking the one she thinks deserves to be sent into the Games. (No one does, but try telling the Capitol that.) She unfolds the slip of paper and reads the name for the entire nation to hear.

"Weave Tarroten."

I pick my brain for any indication that I've spoken with him before, but come up with nothing. A group of guys walk with him towards the stage.

Well, this is new.

Somewhat tall, lean build. Dark brown hair that falls around his face in an elegant way. Like many District 8 residents, I've seen him working in the factories from time to time, hauling huge cotton reels around like they weigh nothing. He climbs the steps with a distressed expression that most likely mirrors my own, and takes his place.

His sister is in the grade below me, I think. Amille is her name. She sometimes sits with the twins and me during lunch, but barely talks and usually just stares out the window. I have grown to like her, as her presence distracts me from my cousins' never-ending chatter.

Ferronia Pallum asks for volunteers, but no one steps forward. He doesn't have any brothers. So he has no choice but to stand beside me as the mayor begins to read the long, dreary Treaty of the Treason. Once he finishes, Mayor Stratton motions for Weave and I to shake hands. His are slightly calloused, rough against my palm. I can only imagine how sweaty mine must feel in his, and am relieved when he doesn't immediately wipe his hand off once we break apart.

The anthem of Panem plays as we search for our family's faces amongst the large gathering of people. I'm just about to turn around and head through the front door of the Justice Building, with Ferronia Pallum clutching me in a vice grip, when I hear it. Denim's two-year-old voice, innocence seeping through his every word, just about causes me to break down and weep.

Tugging on the end of Mom's dress, he asks, "Where's Twilly goin', mama?"

* * *

**Weave Tarroten, 15 ~ District 8 Male**

**Wolffe41**

I sprint across the pathway to Factory Seven, the main factory for sewing buttons and fancy things onto clothes for the Capitol. The roads are silent – it's only about half four, and it's not like we have many cars in District 8 to worry about. We're pretty poor, but nowhere near as bad as some of the others, like 11 and 12. At least we get fed and paid.

My pace slows as my breathing becomes more and more laboured, a stitch stabbing my side, and I spot the huge grey building in the distance. Almost all of Eight is grey, the factories casting shadows everywhere. There is always a throbbing noise from the huge machines. Despite the long run that I have to do twice a day, I'm glad we don't live anywhere around here; my house is closer to the centre of the district, with the factories sitting on the outskirts.

I glance around at the street I'm in – everything is closed, there's no sign of movement from any house. A shiver runs down my spine as I cross through a small patch of shrubs to the main entrance of the factory. The doors are barricaded closed.

My heart leaps up in my throat, and I feel sick. The factories are never closed!

I take hold of a gate railing as my head begins to spin, and that's when I realise that the last time they were closed was after The Accident, the place my anxiety decided to show itself.

One of the older men and I had been carrying a cylinder full of cotton to be refilled, near the overhanging stairwells - held up by long metal pipes over our heads.

"This the last one?" I asked, my arms straining under the weight.

"Yeah - they want us under Shakkby next," he replied. I didn't know his name; most days I was paired up with Mixer, but his mother had fallen ill and he stayed at home.

Shakkby was the person in charge of the finest items in the factory – glass beads imported from District 1 and shells from 4.

I nodded back, and we continued down the hall in silence. The machine lay ahead, just a few more feet... and that was when the roof started to cave in.

"No..."

"Stop!" I screamed, as I dropped the end of the rod and moved out of the way.

The man started to run, throwing his end and sprinting towards me. I got under a concrete pillar; it's regulation for earthquakes, and I figured that it would count the same for this. Chunks of metal wires and ropes tumbled down, scattered across the floor, and I cried out in pain as one whipped across my face.

"No, please..."

The roof gave a groan, like some sort of beast taking its last breath, and caved in with a cloud of dust.

I shake my head, trying to regain control over my body, and grip the handle of the door to steady myself.

People were running, screaming, crying – I stood, gasping and spluttering for my breath, as I saw it. Bodies broken, limbs torn, blood staining the dull grey floor, eyes open, faces fixed in screams of terror as life drained from their bodies.

I cried out, writhing against the floor in a fit to escape, my vision clouded and throat burning. My brain went into overdrive and I screamed; the sound rang in my ears and attracted onlookers.

I grit my nails in my hand, hoping in vain that the pain will pull me away...

People rushed over, shaking and scrambling in the debris surrounding me, and one lashed at my face in an attempt to calm me down. I tasted blood in my mouth and it scared me. I kicked, I squirmed, I bit at the people trying to help me, my vision clouding further still, before I felt a sharp object dig into my upper arm. I looked at a needle being forced into my skin, and the last thing I saw was a pile of tangled limbs lying limply on the floor.

I collapse against the rails, my mind twisting and turning as I sit and clamp my hand over my ears. I don't try to move – I just curl up and try to forget. As if that will ever truly happen. The memory is forever stained into my brain, and nothing I can do now will make me forget.

I must have been sitting for at least half an hour when a hand touches my shoulder. I flinch, and it is retracted immediately.

A face comes down to my eye level, and my body relaxes. It's only Zera, the woman who comes in to clean the factories once we have left, securing all the equipment that is occasionally left out.

I get up slowly and look around. The sky is still dark and misty – it must still be early morning.

"Are you okay, son?" she asks, her hand helping me steady myself as my legs threaten to buckle.

"I think so," I reply. I'm not - not really. But I've learned to lie well enough over the years, so she smiles softly and pats my back.

"You should get back home, Weave - it's far too early to be out yet, especially today. Go and get some more rest, just in case."

I nod, and tell her good day, but my mind wheels around.

"Just in case..."

The doors of the shops are still closed, and nobody is up. I pick up my pace, breaking into a jog, then a sprint as I pass the slums, back to my house.

I slip through the door silently and head upstairs, leaping over the bottom step and curling back into my bed. I fall asleep almost instantly, to mad thoughts and crazy ideas in my mind, all surrounding Zera's words.

"Just in case."

I am woken later by Mother banging on the door, calling me to hurry up. Amille's bed is empty next to mine. I wonder why everything's so quiet. The smell of cooking toast wafts up the stairs, and my heart gives a jolt as I remember that the only day we get delicacies like toast has not been for a year.

It is reaping day. Hurrah. That explains why there wasn't anyone at work, anyway. I curse at myself for forgetting.

My name is entered around twenty times - I'm not entirely sure of the exact number, because District 8 has been giving out less and less amounts of grain and oil for the tesserae, so of course I ended up putting my name in again so Amille can stay at school.

I slowly heave myself up and spot the clothes that Mother has set out for me: the usual grey shirt and an old pair of trousers that must have belonged to Father, because the knees are wearing slightly and are carefully patched. A little black tie lies on top of them, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust at it. I pick the clothes up and run across the hallway to get clean.

Usually we don't get any warm water in our part of the district, but on reaping days they seem to like us to be clean and give us half an hours' worth. I don't waste it as I wash and get dressed.

By the time I'm downstairs, everyone is sitting around the small table in our 'kitchen'. Father looks expectantly at me, a cigarette hanging off of his lower lip as I sit down and take a small roll. I don't think my stomach could handle much more.

"Is Tuck coming around for you later?" he asks, and puffs out a cloud of smoke, which twists and turns in the air before blending into the typical grey of our street.

I nod briefly, not meeting his eyes, before glancing at Amille. She hasn't spoken to me at all today, and I feel a bit worried. Normally, she doesn't shut up and I end up snapping at her. The fire casts dark shadows across her eyes.

"They're all coming 'round as soon as they can, so we can get into the pens without too much fuss," I reply, and he takes another drag.

Tuck, Mixer, and Scott have been my best friends for the past four years, ever since I quit school and moved to the huge factories to make a little bit more money to help out Mother.

Any one of us could be reaped today.

Whilst I eat, Mother attacks my head with a wet comb, attempting to make my hair lay flat. I don't know why she bothers – it never has and never will make any difference whatsoever, but the water dripping down my back makes me shiver.

"What have you been doing, Weave?" she asks.

Well, I don't know, erm, maybe sleeping? I roll my eyes, and Amille giggles.

"What do you think, Mum? He hasn't moved all night," she speaks for me, quite sarcastically.

My stomach squirms uncomfortably as I recall the events of this morning, but I smile at Amille. I feel quite proud, as she has never really understood sarcasm, and give her a high-five over the table. Her smile broadens, and for some strange reason it makes my insides stop writhing.

Mother glares at her, before putting the comb down and bustling back over to the fire. The smell of toast seeps through me and warms me from the inside-out.

The house goes quiet again for a few minutes, until a knock on the door signals the arrival of Tuck. My house is the closest to the Justice Building, so we usually all meet up here and walk together. Father and Family follow behind, as soon as they finish eating.

I get up and open the door, where my friends stand, silly half-smirks on each face.

"Took your time, Weavey-boy." Tuck grins. I fake-frown at him, and greet Mixer and Scott.

Scott points at his watch and shakes his head mockingly. "We're going to be late, you know."

"We have an hour. I'm sure we'll be on time." I shrug my jacket (Father's old reaping one) onto my back.

Mother comes up behind me again, and I give her a hug. Whilst she's bent down, she mutters into my ear, "Be safe, we need you. Good luck," and presses a woven felt anklet into my hand. I kiss her on the cheek, and give Amille and Father a hug before putting it on.

"Come on then, or do you want to be 'late'?" I ask the boys, and we start walking together to the Centre.

By the time we're at the Justice Building and through all the 'standard procedures' (i.e. being stabbed in the finger for our DNA), almost all the decent places to stand have gone.

"Brilliant. Told you we'd be late," Mixer mutters as we rush over to a stand near District 8's only bookshop. I spot Amille, Mother, and Father in the crowd and wave at them. They smile softly in reply, and I turn back to the stage.

All of the usual equipment has been set up – the huge speakers, the screen, the backdrop, and the table with two huge glass balls full of paper slips. My name is in one of those. My name is inside that ball quite a lot of times. I shake my head quickly, trying to clear my thoughts and getting a funny look from Scott. I wrinkle up my nose and roll my eyes at him. He does the same.

The crowd suddenly goes silent, only the sound of heavy breathing remaining. The screen lights up, showing the seal of Panem, followed by the anthem blaring through the speakers. I wince slightly – we're right in front of one.

I don't pay much attention to the anthem; I hear it every year. It's one of the only types of music that we in 8 know. We do have a few drinking, wedding, and funeral songs, but nothing as extravagant as this.

Our escort, Ferronia Pallum, trots out in extremely high heels to stand behind the box, holding a script. It vaguely registers in my mind that she looks more ridiculous than ever – she's been an escort for quite a few years now, and has only recently been moved from 10 to us. Her hair is an interesting shade of magenta, and she has had jewels imbedded into her peach face. How very attractive.

"Welcome, welcome," she squeaks in the high Capitolian accent that drives me to insanity, "to the reapings of the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games!" She starts to clap wildly, grinning widely for a few seconds as though she wants us all to join in. Nobody moves, and I smirk. "Right, moving on. We have a very special treat for you all today, straight from the Capitol!"

My mind starts to wander again, but this time I allow it – it's not exactly a 'special treat', they show the same video of us losing the war leading to the making of the Games. I lose myself in my thoughts, fiddling with the anklet around my foot with my other foot. The video shows a huge city – the Capitol – and I think of how nice it would be to visit, just for a day, to eat the food that they never seem to run out of, see the technology that they can afford, what everyone else in Panem makes and does.

When the video finishes, Ferronia Pallum comes back, this time accompanied by Mayor Stratton. He's a bit of a pushover, letting the punishments that are very rarely given out slide, to protect our reputation as a 'good district'.

She totters behind the reaping balls and flutters her hand over the top.

"Ladies first!" she calls.

I stiffen slightly as she rummages around, searching for a piece of paper. She whips one out, smile still in place, and opens it slowly, almost teasingly - saying that they have the power and there is nothing we can do about it.

The square is entirely silent in worry and anticipation as she clears her throat daintily and trills, "Twilla Applestone!"

I breathe a sigh of relief as I realise it's not someone I know, but it catches in my throat as I see movement in the twelve-year-olds' pen. Everyone has stood to the side, leaving a tiny little girl in a pink dress rooted to the spot, her face frozen, and even from over here I can see her shaking. Two others that look to be a little older grip her hands, their faces identical to the last freckle. The girl – Twilla, is her name – has turned a ghostly shade of white as she sends a frantic look towards the crowd.

"Come on up, then, dearie!" Ferronia chirps. I would like to rip out her voice box (or hire someone else to, since I wouldn't be able to stand the blood), just to stop the awful sounds coming out of her mouth that she must think are comforting.

Twilla doesn't move an inch – her face is completely expressionless. Poor little thing. I hope Amille didn't...doesn't know her. It would be better that way.

I glance back on stage and spot Mayor Stratton vanish around the side of the stage. Everyone is watching Twilla.

A flock of Peacekeepers arrive around the side of the stage. They jog over to the girl, the crowd melting away as they pass and begin to bundle her forward. Twilla moves as though she is in a trance, and my mind whirls, showing Amille in her place.

That could be her.

A Peacekeeper prods her in the back with his gun – a woman in the crowd around us shrieks, and there is a small commotion. She falls silent again as the girl is ushered on stage, her legs trembling and quivering.

Ferronia puts her arm around her and escorts her (ha, ha – escorts) to the podium. Twilla holds it in an iron grip, her knuckles white. I look back over at the twin girls she was with. They're clutching each other, and crying silently into each other's arms for their friend's foreseeable future.

After asking for volunteers, and when no one offers to save the little girl, the escort says, "I give to you – District Eight's newest female tribute, Twilla Applestone!" A look of betrayal flashes over the girl's face as she connects eyes with her friends in the audience. Ferronia then heads over to the boys' ball.

Please, no one I know. _Please, almighty God?_ I silently pray in the back of my mind.

My body tenses, and I can feel my three friends doing the same. It could be any of us.

Ferronia plunges into the paper-filled ball and wastes no time in pulling one out. Her lips curl as she scans the crowd, and my heart stops as she looks in our direction.

No.

Her eyes meet mine for a split second, and suddenly I know what's coming.

"Weave Tarroten!"

My mind goes into overdrive, all thoughts forgotten. I start to shake, my fists clenching and unclenching, coldness seeping through my body, making me forget who I am and what I'm doing.

A warm hand touches my back. Scott.

Someone mutters, "Go" into my ear. Tuck.

Someone moves to my side, creating a triangle around me. Mixer.

The hand pushes more firmly, and I start to move. The three of them move with me. We walk as a group, in absolute silence, to the stage, and they stop as I step forwards. I look back to see their faces broken, and a small part of me threatens to crack too.

Ferronia looks a little bit shocked, and for some strange reason it makes me feel stronger, strong enough to move on. That, or Ferronia's huge lips have crinkled in a way that makes her look like one of our oldest factory workers dipped in the dyeing machines.

With that thought, I grimace and try to pull myself together. Trembling is weakness. This will be shown to all the other tributes tonight, and I cannot appear weak. I'll be hunted down first.

My body moves itself onto the stage, and before I know it, I'm clutching Twilla's small hand, facing our district and taking one final look around.

Mayor Stratton then reads the Treaty of the Treason. I find myself spacing off halfway through it, and am brought out of my stupor as he motions for my district partner and I to shake hands. Twilla sends a small smile my way, one that I gratefully return as the anthem of Panem plays in the background.

Ferronia has obviously come over her shock, because her face is no longer scrunched up, and then we are being bustled off of the stage in the Justice Building, with Ferronia clutching us tightly. Twilla must have heard something that upset her, as her legs buckle beneath her, and if it weren't for Ferronia's grip, she would have fallen to the ground.

A tiny, snarky voice that sounds incredibly like Tuck speaks up in my mind, making my heart drop even further than it has managed to in the last ten minutes.

Well, you did say you wanted to see the Capitol.

I'm let into a room furnished with endless amounts of luxurious stuff – so much that if it was sold, it could probably keep the whole of 8 fed for at least a month.

I walk to a grimy window and look out over the square. Almost everyone has gone, only a few of the older men remaining to place bets on us. Bets on how long we last. I start thinking of all the ways to die, they flash around – knives, swords, bludgeons, axes, drowning, freezing, starving, poisoning, being ripped to shreds by mutts, the list could go on forever. The images swim around in front of me, like little hallucinations of each of the Games that I have seen. My heart begins to beats quicker and my breathing shallows, so much that I can't breathe at all. I gasp out loud, my lungs burning as I splutter and I bury my face in my hands.

"Be strong, we need you," my mind says, in an exact replica of my mother's voice.

The door opens, and I jerk around before being hit in the stomach by my sister. I hug her back and hold her close to my chest as she sobs, her body heaving almost as badly as mine was a minute ago. I bury my face in her hair and shush her, rocking slightly.

My mother follows in with my father, tears silently cascading down her face, and she pulls both of us into a hug. I open my eyes to see my father looking at me, something he has not done in years, and he nods. I nod back, and gulp down the lump steadily forming in my throat for the third time today. My mother gently releases me, and pulls Amille onto her lap and looks at me, her face wet and eyes red. Another part of me cracks slightly.

"You can do this," my father murmurs, not looking away. Once again, I squirm uncomfortably. I can't. How can I? We've only had two victors in thirty-six years – Rena and Woof. The doubt must be showing in my eyes, as he bends down in front of me and whispers, "Yes, you can. Be strong. Be smart. Use your knowledge to your advantage. You have a chance."

I nod before pulling him into a hug, and suddenly we're all clutching each other, tears everywhere, and we sit for a few minutes, until footsteps are heard outside the door.

"One minute," a stern voice calls.

I pull out of the group and look Amille in the eyes. "I will do everything I can to get back. I can't promise..."

She cuts me off, a steely glint in her blue eyes that I have never seen before. "No. You WILL. Promise me, Weave, that you will return, please." Her eyes fill with tears again. Another part cracks.

I nod. "I will."

She sits on my lap and puts her head on my shoulder. I turn to my father and reach down for the anklet. "Here. You should have it, it's yours. For luck."

The Peacekeepers come in, still armed with the guns, causing Amille to leap up and kiss me on each of my cheeks. My mother gives me one last hug and a kiss, gasping and sobbing, and my father presses the woven green and blue felt back into my hand.

"No. This is yours, designed entirely for you when you were born. Why do you think it is woven?" he teases. "Besides, it is not I that needs the luck. You're better than them. Prove it," he says softly. I smile at him, and give him a hug.

"I'll see you on the other side," I whisper.

"On the other side," he agrees. I release him, and he kisses my forehead and leaves.

No sooner have they left, the door flies open again. It's the boys, still looking completely heartbroken.

I go over and pull the three of them into a group hug. I honestly don't know where I would be without them. Probably living a life of anxiety attacks, panicking every step of the way - like I had done before I met them.

"Thank you so, so much," I manage to mutter, my voice thick. "It's been the best time of my life, knowing you all."

"Oi, this is not the end. You'll win. You must!" Tuck growls.

I nod again, trying to make them see that I will try, really try. I will try until it kills me, but they don't seem to get that.

I'm not going down that easy. I'll put my panic behind, leave it in 8 and try to move on without it, and defend myself from the anxiety.

"You're stronger than them."

They can chip me away, crack me, scratch me, hurt me in all ways and push me to my limits, but I'll bend; I won't break. I will refuse to.

"I will. I'm not going to give in to them."

"You better not, or Scott here might be annoyed – he wants to see the inside of a victor's house," says Mixer, rolling his eyes.

I surprise myself by chuckling – one of the last things I thought I could do at the moment. The Victor's Village is pretty big, with twelve houses and room for more – evidently the Capitol expect us to have quite a few victors. Apparently in 1 and 2, they have over twenty each.

"If-" I start.

Tuck glares. "When."

"Erm, when I win, I'll let you all have a massive party 'round there, but don't get used to it, I'll kick you out and become famous in the Capitol." I joke.

Mixer puts a hand to his heart in mock-pain. "Ouch, Weave...ouch."

Scott shifts uncomfortably. "Look, I'm sorry we didn't volunteer and get you out of this. That's what friends should do, but-"

It's my turn to butt in. "No. It's my fate, not yours. I would have gone up anyway and thrown you off the stage if you had even tried." He smiles a bit, and I feel bad for lying. I couldn't have got to the stage myself without the three of them, let alone forbid them to volunteer.

"Good. I wouldn't have volunteered – you can keep all your fancy Capitol visits to yourself," Tuck smirks.

I punch his shoulder, and he gives me a falsely pained look. "That hurt. Violent child. Punching is my thing, not yours."

"Weavey-boy's all grown up," Mixer grins, taking my cheek in his hand and pulling it. I slap him away because it feels like my entire face will be ripped off. And no matter how good the technology in the Capitol, I'm sure they don't have enough skill to remodel my entire face.

"Nah, you're just growing down," I reply.

He pulls a face and I laugh, savouring the moment. It's my last chance, after all.

We joke around until they're called away by pair of Peacekeepers, each who are grumbling that 'I've had far too much time as it is, this is not regulation!'

Twilla comes out of a room opposite mine, her eyes glistening and hair starting to fall out of its bun. She's terrified. It's written all over her face. I gently put a hand on her shoulder and give her a strained smile. The effects of being with the guys are wearing off, and I'm absolutely shattered. I don't think I care what happens anymore.

Twilla gives me a tiny smile, and it splits her face into an entirely different person. I smile a more genuine smile this time and whisper to her, "You'll be okay," before Ferronia comes back, accompanied by Rena and Woof.

She won't be okay in the end – the little ones never are. But for now she'll be safe and looked after. It's probably worth a few days of happiness before being forced into the arena, to have a bit of fun and experience the Capitol, even just for a little while.

We're taken to the station by the mentors and Ferronia, in a small car that every tribute must have ridden in. It makes me feel sick.

The train itself is huge – a long streamline tube that resembles one of the huge empty cotton wheels that we had to refill in the factory. The thought of my old life makes me sigh, and Woof gives me a knowing grimace.

The servants let us onto our part of the train, and the mentors vanish off as soon as we get on. Ferronia is still here, though, so I needn't have 'worried' about getting lost.

"In here we have a living section, as you can see, with all of the Capitol's finest delicacies on offer, and you each have your own private chamber with clothes already in there. You can go wherever you want," she says. Her voice isn't as irritating as it was earlier – either she put the stupid high-pitched one on, or I'm getting tuned into her. I hope it's the first option.

I decide to go to my 'chamber' to get clean, and then eat. My stomach is churning, and I would not particularly like to end up ill.

The 'living area' is huge; everything is furnished like the room in the Justice Building, but finer and there is so much more of it. A huge table with a serve-yourself sign is next to a partition with a glass door. The different smells mingle together and attack my nose – I suppose it smells all right, but food at home is better. More normal.

I pass through it nervously. The glassware looks so simple and so very breakable. If I were at home, I would not go near any of it for fear of punishment if it shattered.

My strides become longer as I reach the end of the compartment, pausing briefly to glance through a window. We have left the dullness of home behind, and are passing through fields of green and yellow. If I wasn't heading to the place that would prepare me to go to my certain death like a chicken in a slaughterhouse, then I'm sure I would enjoy the sight.

Cautiously, I carry on down the train through at least three different-coloured compartments, my feet padding against the plush carpet, until I reach a door engraved with fancy swirls and glimmers of gold. I suppose this must be my room, as I already passed Twilla's (hers had flowers and silver on it, in the middle of a purple corridor), and there is a no-entry sign further along the blood-red walls.

My skin crawls at the colour, and try not to think that liquid that looks much the same is currently flowing through me, but won't be for much longer – even if I beat all the odds and become victor, I'm pretty sure I'm going to get injured. I'm not a miracle, after all.

The room itself is very pale grey – almost white – with a double bed and long wall wardrobes, both blue. Another door leads off to the side, and I presume that this is the "perfect luxury bathroom, with stunning features from District Three!" that Ferronia talked about.

I head straight in there, and find that she was not lying. There are over fifty buttons with symbols aligned on a wall, where a shower is overhanging. I immediately come out from underneath it and decide to pass on a shower, no matter how much I long to try everything out. The sight of all the technologies that I had no idea could even be invented makes me feel even more sick. How can they have so much, and us have so little? It vaguely registers, as I sit down, that they probably go out of their way to show everything off to us tributes, to throw us off-balance and reinforce the whole 'we're in charge, you can't beat us' idea.

I put my head in my arms, shaking, and sink into the bed. It's like a huge pile of unwound cotton. Thick and plush, and a pain to keep in the original condition.

The train sways slightly as we travel; it takes the rest of the day and all night to get to the Capitol – we need to go around all of the other districts first. We're not allowed to see them.

I sit on the bed until the sickness in my stomach goes a little, then straighten up and have a poke around. The room is probably bugged with some sort of voice recorder, to spy on us, but it doesn't really matter as I have no one to talk to.

I decide to see if there is any normal, clean clothing on this train, and slowly slide the doors of the wardrobe back. It's about two meters deep and so full of frilly, silky, shiny, woolly clothing that I close it immediately. On second thoughts, I'm perfectly happy with what I've got on.

On third thoughts, all the other tributes from District 8 (the boy ones, anyway) have probably been faced with the exact selection of clothes that are in there now. They don't need to be washed or replaced, because they're only worn once a year. Or twice, when Woof won.

As though it's trying to distract me, my stomach gives a lurch and growls. I'm suddenly reminded of how hungry I am, and the thought of all the luscious food in the other compartment makes my mouth water.

I leave the room exactly how it was before, and glance around one last time. My heart leaps and I jump when I see a pale ghost-like figure at the end, right next to the 'No Entry' sign. She smiles wanly at me, and I grimace back and hurry to find the living area.

...

When I pass the glass compartment, Woof and Rena are coming out, muttering to each other under their breath. I feel a spark of curiosity as Woof purses his lips, summing me up.

"How do you feel?" he asks gently. The question makes me frown as I think. How do I feel? I'm not sure if I quite know myself.

"I'm all right. I think. Nervous, I suppose," I manage to say. Mentally, I curse at myself for being so jumpy.

Woof gazes down at me, a tiny frown on his face. And the sensation of being thoroughly observed, as though he's looking at all my flaws, causes me to look away and shudder uncomfortably. I immediately regret it, though: it seems weak to be worried about the one person (presuming he's going to be my mentor, of course) that will help me in the Games, when I'm going off to fight to the death.

He doesn't seem concerned about it. Instead, he places a hand gently on my shoulder and walks with me in silence to a long table, where Twilla and Rena sit. I haven't actually said a word to either mentor, or them one to me, but their presence calms me. I sit next to Twilla, and she briefly looks up before resuming staring at the placemat.

Ferronia is nowhere to be seen, and I celebrate silently.

"I think we have decided that I shall mentor Twilla?" Rena questions. Her voice is light and gentle, the kind a mother would have, not the one of a woman that killed over three people less than fifteen years ago.

"That's fine with me, unless Twilla objects." I look at the little girl.

"Twilly," she murmurs.

I cock an eyebrow in confusion, and out of the corner of my eye I see the mentors do the same.

"Twilly. Not Twilla – Twilly, please. It reminds me of home," she answers, and looks up at us through her wide eyes. They begin to tear over, and Rena jumps up to put a hand on her shoulder.

"Of course," she says, rubbing it soothingly. Rena exchanges a look with Woof - one that I recognise. Pity. They don't think she's going to make it. Like I said, neither do I.

The servants wearing red come over with the platters of food, and I fill my plate slowly. I'm absolutely ravenous, but I don't really want to be ill. However, as soon as I take a bite, I forget all logical thoughts and steadily make my way through at least four platefuls of all sorts of things – stews and soups and meats and breads and all sorts of exotic things that I have never dreamed could exist. I meet my weakness at a small fruit that Rena calls a 'peach', and sit munching my way around one when we are joined by Ferronia. She squeals, pours herself a steaming mug of brown liquid, and settles down, looking expectantly at us.

"Do you have any strengths? Anything that could help you win?" she asks in her funny up-and-down voice.

I rack my brain, trying to think of something of use, when Twilla-Twilly speaks up nervously, eyes jumping around.

"I used to play darts with my friends, and have fairly good aim with them. Would that be good?"

Rena nods approvingly. "Never underestimate a good throw and poison. If you get it right, you can take people out easily without having to move. They can be as good as a bow and arrow any day."

Twilly looks happier, and pushes a piece of cake around in a bowl.

"I can make rope out of anything, and I ran a mile to the factories each day?" I say. When you compare it to everything else I've seen, I have nothing. Even Twilly has a weapon. What good is speed and fabric, unless I'm supposed to lasso people? Even then, my aim is so poor I'd end up getting tangled. Then boom. I'd be dead.

"How fast can you do it?" Woof asks.

I think. "Ten minutes, on a good day." But I can be as slow as twenty in bad weather. Or if I'm in a lazy mood.

"Well, that's pretty quick; you can get away fast from the Cornucopia. Which factory are you in?"

I can tell that they aren't too impressed with speed. I don't blame them, it's a pretty useless asset; I wouldn't be able to outrun a knife or spear.

"Seven. I reload the machines with cotton and tread with the big spiels."

"Spiels?" Ferronia asks. I roll my eyes as Woof explains about the long metal tubes we use, all wrapped in whatever.

"Long or short?" Woof scratches his chin, and takes a sip from his own steaming cup.

"It depends on what they want, but generally the thinner, longer ones for the finer clothes." I start to relax back a little bit into the dark wooded chair, and Ferronia offers me and Twilly a cup of coffee. She refuses, but I take a little, and our escort drops two sugar cubes and a dollop of cream into it.

Rena says, "Hmm" and stands up as I take a sip. It's a bit bitter, but I feel warmth spread down to every part of my body in a comforting way.

Neither of the mentors says anything more, and I'm unwilling to break the silence. Outside it's already dark – I vaguely remind myself that there is a time change throughout the different districts. Lights turn on, and the servants come back to clear the table.

The girl that I saw earlier takes away a pile of cakes, and I smile at her again. This time she flinches slightly, not making eye contact. She hurries out, and Ferronia frowns at me. Rena shoots her a glare, and the bird-like woman remains silent.

I move to the windows and look outside for a while, until Ferronia declares that "it really is getting late, and we have such an important day tomorrow! You can see the Capitol and meet the stylists and it's going to be ever so exciting!" Her voice is all high-pitched again, and my ears hurt. If she goes up a few notes, only bats will be able to hear her. What a relief.

Rena agrees with her and leads Twilly out, calling goodnight to me and Woof. I stand, and he motions to come closer. I do so, and he mutters into my ear.

"When you start training, make sure you cover the survival skills thoroughly. They are the most valuable thing is the arena. You can shield a sword and knives all you want, but they can't save you from the elements. On the second day, finish them and move onto spears. Spears and maybe hand-to-hand combat. Don't bother with anything else, apart from maybe the staffs. Don't try to impress people. Try not to get close emotionally to others. And I would suggest that you don't make an alliance."

A dead look has appeared in his eyes, and I can tell he is deadly serious.

"Why did you tell me now? Why not when we were with the others?"

He sighs. "I personally think that you may stand a good chance. The poor little girl, Twilly - talk of the Games would scare her even more. There's no point in doing that." I decide that that's fair enough. Straightening up, I say goodnight and head over towards the door. "By the way, don't say too much in the Capitol. It's more than likely to be overflowing with bugs. No words of your training to anyone apart from myself and Rena, all right?" he calls after me.

"Yes, sir. My lips are sealed."

"Goodnight, Weave."

I tell him goodnight, and head back to my chamber, straight away collapsing into the bed without bothering to get changed. I don't realise how exhausted I am until my eyes close without me telling them to, and I briefly recap the day and think one last thought before I drift off to sleep.

What will happen to me next?


	9. District Nine Reapings

**Angela Jaxson****, 13 ~ District 9 Female**

**XOXOFutureFame**

_Thunder rumbled in the distance, as rain splattered against the windows. The train moved along swiftly. A five-year-old girl had her face pressed against the window, her nose smudging the glass. Her jet-black hair, pulled back in two thick braids, seemed almost navy blue in the darkness. Her wide-set, stormy grey eyes were opened wide with curiosity and seemed to pick up every detail, as field after field of grain flashed by._

_The train picked up speed abruptly. The driver seemed to have lost control over the steering, his face clouded with shock and terror._

_The passengers began to whisper among themselves, the whispers growing rapidly to yells of panic as the train continued to pick up speed, until fields were just blurring past._

_The train tracks screeched, piercing into the darkness, as the train squealed suddenly to a stop. The motion tipped it, and it crashed to its side. There was an explosion, followed by screams...then silence._

_Peacekeepers came to inspect the wreckage for survivors._

_Only a bloodcurdling wail, and the sobbing of a young girl, broke the silence._

I woke up to a blast of sunlight hitting me right in the face. Letting out a yelp of surprise, I fell right off the top bunk of my room in the District 9 orphanage, which I shared with three other girls. Luckily, I landed on a pile of dirty laundry, which softened my fall, though not by much.

I muttered something under my breath, a word that a just-turned-thirteen-year-old should not know.

Rolling over with a moan of protest, I looked up to see Annabel Northwood, one of my ever-so-annoying roommates. Her brown hair was put back in a sleek, tight bun, not one strand fell out. She was dressed in a preppy button-up and a black pencil skirt. I was still in my pajamas. Her arms were folded stiffly over her chest, a scowl on her face.

"Do you know what time it is?" she demanded.

"No...why don't you tell me?" I pushed myself up in a sitting position, biting back a retort.

She shook her head at me, disgusted. "It's ten o'clock. You were expected at the dining hall half an hour ago. If you want any breakfast, you better get down there, fast. Do you know what day it is?"

"Hmm, let me think about it," I replied sarcastically, scrunching up my face in fake concentration. "Monday? No, wait...Wednesday? No, um, I know! Saturday!"

"Yes, but today's also reaping day! We're expected to be down at the City Square by twelve-thirty, two-and-a-half hours away. Ms. Greyson will be coming around for room inspections in ten minutes! How do you expect us to clean up all this-"

She waved her arm, gesturing to the mess in our room... my mess.

"-In ten minutes? Ten minutes! TEN MINUTES-"

Ms. Greyson was our dorm mistress, and in my opinion, a witch. She was incredibly strict, and could find a problem in anything. She once told me off for laughing too loudly. The two of us didn't exactly get along on best terms.

"Okay! I heard you the first time. You don't need to yell; I'm not deaf yet. But chances are, sharing a room with you, I'll end up deaf eventually," I snapped.

Annabel continued her ranting. "You're the reason we never pass inspections, why we're always stuck with extra chores! In fact-"

"Okay, okay, jeez! It's not like I like being stuck in a room with you either. In fact, I'll jump at the chance to change rooms." I got up reluctantly, running my fingers through my long, stick-straight, knotted, jet black hair. "Maybe, instead of complaining, you can clean up while I go downstairs for breakfast," I suggested in a bitterly sweet voice, picking up the broom that lay in the corner and shoving it into her hands. Then I skipped away without another word, leaving her speechless and furious.

The blazing sun glared at me as I waited for what seemed like ages in the City Square for the District 9 escort, Adele Silver, to arrive. It was her first year on the job; her uncle had ties or something, so she got moved up to District 9, instead of starting off at District 12 like usual.

Looking around for some way to entertain myself, my eyes settled on a dog tied to a tree, a few meters away from the sign-in table. Annabel and some of her friends from school were standing near it, gossiping and talking about whatever they talk about. Oh, this was going to be good...

Fifteen minutes later, I had a Peacekeeper on either side, escorting me back into my place in the crowd of thirteen-year-olds.

I stayed put for the rest of the wait. First time was a warning. The second would involve a beating. It wasn't like things like this weren't just another daily event for me; I had a rare case called 'ADHD', which stood for 'Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder'. There was medicine and a cure, but it was expensive, and the community home wasn't about to spend tons of money on me any time soon, no matter how much trouble I caused for them.

Finally, Adele Silver leaped onto the stage in her six-inch heels. The Capitol's fashions were always horrifying, and this year it was no better. Her hair was stick-straight, dyed a blinding shade of pink with thick stripes of blond. Or was it the other way around...? Her hair matched her clutch and heels, all a bright pink, along with a sparkly, glitter-covered gold dress-suit. Her hot-pink nails had glitter-gold French-tips. I shuddered to think how hard it would be to walk around in heels that tall all day; they looked painful, almost weapon-like.

She smiled a hot-pink smile, revealing a set of blinding white teeth that couldn't possibly be real. It went right in place with the rest of her outfit. "Welcome, welcome, to the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games! This is my first year as escort, and I'm so excited! I can't wait to get started, and meet our two lucky young tributes! I just know this will be so much fun!" She paused, as if waiting for applause. She was met with silent disbelief. I suppressed the urge to laugh._ Oh, sure! _I thought. _Twenty-four kids being sent to fight to the death, what fun! _The silence and lack of enthusiasm did no harm to her spirit. "Now, we have a special presentation, brought to you all the way from the Capitol! Isn't that exciting?" She paused again for a reaction of some sort. Receiving none, she pressed a button, and a huge, but nearly invisible flat screen behind her came to life.

I tuned out the video, and the speech made by the mayor after it. It was the same speech every year. I scanned the crowd absentmindedly, searching for any form of entertainment. I spotted Annabel with the rest of the fifteen-year-olds, biting her nails in anticipation. A grin spread across my face. Last time I got on her case for that, she claimed that she gave up the habit years ago. I'd definitely rub it in when I saw her later...

My thoughts began drifting off as I watched Adele reach into the glass bowl, her hot pink talons standing out against the small white slips of paper, four of which held my name...

This was my second year putting my name in the drawing. But it was a rule at the District 9 community home that all kids eligible to participate in the drawing take out at least one share of tesserae. I found the rule unfair. Sure, they gave us food (though not much) and a bed to sleep in, but it wasn't like they did it for free - the district paid them.

"Angelica Jaxson!"

I barely registered as she called out the name of the unlucky soul who would be dying this year. I was too busy lost in my own thoughts. 'Geez, I wonder who was chosen...I hope it's Annabel, then I'll have a whole bunk to myself...'

"I repeat - Angelica Jaxson!"

I snapped back into reality, just in time to hear her announce my name. My full name, that is.

My mind went numb, as the rest of the thirteen-year-olds stepped aside, forming a path to the stage. They were silent, watching me with solemn expressions.

I heard a piercing scream. Then I realized that came from me. I screamed and screamed, not caring that the cameras were all trained on me, and that all of Panem was probably watching. My screams startled Adele, who dropped her rhinestone-encrusted microphone, letting out a pitched shriek of her own. The microphone made a loud thump on the stage, startling her once again, causing her to jump back and nearly fall over in her heels. I screamed until my voice went hoarse. By then, I had already gotten over the shock and was overcome with anger, but continued screaming for the sake of it, just to annoy them.

It was only when Peacekeepers started walking, their hands placed threateningly over the large pistols hanging from their belts, that I stopped - and made my way, shuffling towards the stage at a snail's pace, as slowly as possible. A Peacekeeper came up from behind and gave me a hard shove as I ascended the stairs. I shook free of his grasp, giving him a cold glare, and called him a really rude name. It wasn't as if they could do anything, punish me any further. I was going into the Hunger Games, what had I got to lose?

"Miss Angelica!" Adele reached out to shake my hand, still smiling that smile of hers. It was getting on my nerves, how she seemed so happy.

I reached out and shook it, putting in as much energy as possible, pumping it up and down with overly fake enthusiasm. "Call me Angela," I said in a poison-sweet voice, as I sashayed to the microphone. "And I just wanted to say how excited I am to be here, as the female tribute for the Thirty-seventh Hunger Games! Such an exciting opportunity, I just can't wait! It's like...a dream come true!"

_A dream come true...more like a nightmare_, I thought, but I smiled winningly at the crowd.

There was a moment of silence, as my district stared at me. A few of the younger kids let loose scoffs of laughter, but they were quickly hushed by their parents. Anyone with half a brain cell could see I was being sarcastic. It was the only way to prevent me from going crazy and lashing out at everyone in sight.

"Well!" Adele said at last, still smiling. "I'm glad we have such an enthusiastic tribute this year! Now if only all our tributes were like that!"

I stared at her blankly for a second, before regaining my composure. "Oh, yes, of course!"

"Any volunteers?"

Silence. Why am I not surprised?

"Your female tribute for the Thirty-seventh Hunger Games, Angela Jaxson!"

There was rather unenthusiastic applause, and I took a mocking bow before stepping back.

I tuned out the rest. Someone named Grey was reaped. I was too busy thinking of all possible escape routes, and drowning in self-pity.

"District Nine, I give you... Angela Jaxson and Grey Whitton!"

That's what his last name was: Whitton. He looked to be around my age, with grey eyes. His face was downcast and I couldn't get a good look, but I felt as if I knew him from somewhere, not just someone I passed on the street. Then it hit me - he was in my Second Grade class. I hoped I wouldn't be the one who killed him.

I usually loved being in the center of attention, but today I couldn't wait to get out. With a Peacekeeper at each side, I was escorted backstage into the Justice Building. One of them kept glowering at me, and it dawned on me that he was the one I insulted earlier. I glared back.

I was too young to die.

The goodbyes went by all too quickly. Not that I had many visitors.

I sat on the train to the Capitol, watching District 9 blur past. Even though I was never too fond of my district, I felt a pang of homesickness as I watched it all go by.

The train was one of the most fanciest places I'd ever seen. I instantly hated it.

A large glass table was surrounded by modern steel chairs that had cushions lined with silk. Matching plates were set around the table, with cloth napkins delicately folded into swans, birds, and shapes of all sort. Tall vases with unique patterns held colourful, exotic flowers. An overflowing platter of fruit was placed at the center of the table.

Despite all this, I sat on the ground, my arms folded, a scowl on my face, in some act of defiance. Grey sat on one of the chairs across from me, avoiding eye contact.

At that moment, Adele bounced in, smiling. "Aren't you excited? Everything here is at your disposal. You two should feel very honored to enjoy these luxuries – you probably never will again," she chirped.

"Very honored?" I cried out in disbelief. "We're being sent to our deaths, and you expect us to feel honored?"

Tanson, our mentor and only victor District 9 has ever had, came in at that moment, interrupting what could be the start of an arguement.

"Hello," he said. "I know you're scared and everything, but if it helps, I'm here to comfort you as best as I can."

I frowned, looking at Grey, confused. He shrugged. I turned back to Tanson. "Well, comfort's not going to help us in the arena when we have five Careers circling us, is it?"

Tanson paused uncertainly for a moment, swallowing hard. "Well, ah, no. . .but it'll help. . .ah. . .um. . .-" he stammered.

He was saved from talking by Adele. "You're probably not going to live very long, anyways, seeing that District Nine never does. So what's the point of preparing you? Cheers!" She tossed her hair, before prancing out the room on her heels. I thought about how funny it would be if her wig fell off when she did that hair-flip thing.

Tanson gave us a look and sighed, before following her.

I leaned back against the wall, and watched as the last of District 9 rolled by.

* * *

**Grey Whitton****, 13 ~ District 9 Male**

**HungerGames226**

~Chapter One – Part One: Grey Eyes~

I lie in bed, awake, knowing that I should get up. But I can't flutter open my eyes. Because when I do, it will be Reaping Day officially.

I take a deep breath and open my eyes. Better to get the Reaping over with than to be whipped for not attending. I shudder at the thought.

Trying to distract myself, I make my bed. Something I never do. Fold, tuck, tuck, fold. Stretch, fold, tuck, fold. I repeat the process more than necessary.

Reaping Day is when each of the twelve districts of Panem send one boy and one girl between twelve and eighteen off to the Capitol – the government. They're trained in war, and then they go to an arena, where they fight to the death until one person survives. This is a very good thing for Districts 1, 2, and 4, because they can afford to train. Being from District 9, it's not such a good thing.

Having my name in the lottery only twice, my chances of being picked are extremely thin. But if I'm picked? That's that.

I meet my mother in the bathroom; she's fixing her hair. Glossy and auburn, curling slightly at the tips. She puts it into a loose bun as she sees me in the mirror. "Morning, Grey," she says, focusing on one pin that won't slide through.

I yawn stiffly. "Good morning."

It's just my mother and me around here, because my father was run over by a drunk combine driver harvesting grain when I was four. There were no hospitals to take him to. He was dead anyways.

District 9 can be pretty poor, but Mom and I are really poor. We were forced to move out of our spacious one-story house on Donegan Lane to this cramped and dim-lit shack, relying only on Mom's job as a haircutter. She hasn't found good work lately. She's wearing a soft green dress with short sleeves and a skirt that flutters ever so slightly; Dad bought it one summer for her birthday. She wears it every Reaping Day.

I put on my soft, old white shirt with buttons, too-big black pants, brown corduroy suspenders, and worn leather boots from my father.

A rough hand through my thick chestnut hair with copper highlights. After Mom leaves, I wash my face; our water is clean at least, but short in supply and freezing cold year-round. I open my eyes: a dark and stormy grey with just a hint of blue; what I was named for. While a lot of people in 9 have red hair and blue eyes, I stand out.

"Are you ready?" Mom asks.

I dry my face off with an ivory towel, one from the old house, and shout a Yes down the narrow hallway.

With one last look at the mirror, I head to the front door where Mom's waiting. She gives me a long, tight hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Mom," I say, smiling a little. She blushes, and we head out to the square.

"Wait! I forgot something," I say, panicked. I run back to the house. Running is the only thing I'm good at, the only way I'd have a chance in the Hunger Games.

A run to my room. The thin house shakes as I claw my way through my room desperately. There it is: a thin silver pendant with two doves engraved on it, and a thin black string. From my father. It's customary in our family for the youngest son to wear it on Reaping Day.

I race back to Mom. Not that I'm in a rush to get to the Reaping; I just want to be with her before my chance of being picked.

We're silent the rest of the way. The cool silver of the pendant feels good against my chest, warm from my ever-increasing heartbeat. I clutch it for safety.

I give Mom a final goodbye as we approach the square.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you too," I respond. We part.

I get in line to check in. As the attendant pricks my finger for blood, I scan the crowd for any sign of my friends. No such luck.

"Next," the attendant says impatiently.

I move swiftly along, my grey eyes still on the crowd. Is that Anthony? No, it can't be. He wouldn't be with the Sixteens. I pan in front of me, a sea of copper hair.

I see a head of blonde hair done in a ponytail: Becky, my best friend from my old neighborhood. I haven't seen her in so long.

"Becky," I croak out. "Becky!"

The head turns. She is walking towards her pen, and I realize I am walking aimlessly. Blue eyes meet mine. A flicker of recognition. A grin. She walks over to me hurriedly.

"Grey! It's nice to see you! Well, not here, but still. You get what I mean."

I laugh in understanding. She's grown, obviously, since I talked to her last nine years ago – the year that my father died. With her mother's permission, she walked me to my new house. Two four-year-olds, holding hands, walking down the street. There wasn't a lot to carry, because we were forced to sell a lot of things.

I've passed her in school, of course, but she's always with a bunch of annoying girls that only care about clothes and boys.

"How have you been?" I ask, finally.

"Pretty well, I guess. Donegan hasn't been the same without you," she tells me. "You?"

I consider this for a moment. How have I been doing? Living in a house tearing apart at the seam? Never seeing my old friends? My old house? On the verge of poverty? Or should I feel well, because I'm alive? The look on my face must tell her all of this.

"Oh," she says.

She looks like she's about to say something more, but we're pulled apart by Peacekeepers trying to get everyone to their pens. Pens. Animals live in pens. Why should we be treated like animals?

The Capitol is the true animal.

~Chapter One – Part Two: Slim to None~

The yearly monster takes the stage. Adele Silver, our district's escort, has chosen a sparkly green dress suit, with neon-pink hair, makeup, and a clutch to match. The Capitol finds it attractive – however, no one else does.

She clears her throat. "Welcome, welcome, to the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games!" she says in her peppy Capitol accent. She spreads her arms, as if the Hunger Games were something grand and exciting. "This is my first year as escort, and I'm so excited! I can't wait to get started, and meet our two lucky young tributes! I just know this will be so much fun! Now, we have a special presentation, brought to you all the way from the Capitol! Isn't that exciting?"

She indicates a screen, as if we never knew it was there. A Capitol voice narrates as clips of wars show, talking about the Dark Days that disturbed our peace and land. Yada, yada, yada.

The mayor of District 9 takes the stage and recites reluctantly, the Treaty of the Treason. "In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up one male and female between the ages of twelve and eighteen at a public 'Reaping'. These Tributes shall be delivered to the custody of The Capitol, and then transferred to a public arena where they will Fight to the Death, until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games."

Adele recites each word silently, because she knows it by heart. After the end, when the screen turns to black, she clutches her heart. She slowly strips off a glitzy gold glove and wipes a tear off her eye.

"I'm sorry," she says, "I just love that so much!" Her voice rings through the old and rarely used square like a high-pitched bell, one given to a toddler but then taken away because it's annoying.

She clears her throat. . .once more. . .and composes herself. "Now," she continues, "is the time to select one courageous young man and woman. . .for the honor of representing District Nine in the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games!" She smiles at us. "As usual, ladies first."

She takes slow, small steps to the bowl with hundreds of names, all girls from our district. She takes one out. It seems an eternity before she announces the name of our 'lucky' female tribute.

"Angelica Jaxson!" Ooh. She was in my Second Grade class. I haven't talked to her in years. . .but still. I knew her once, and she'll probably be dead the first day. A community home girl.

The crowd clears around her without a word. Jet-black hair moves along, slowly. Reluctantly. Her knees wobble on the stage.

"Now, for the boys."

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

I breathe heavily, not able to calm myself down. It's only my second year, though – it's impossible that she'll say:

"Grey Whitton."

~Chapter One – Part Three: Reluctant Partings~

The name takes a couple moments to register. Who in the world is Grey Whitton? I almost turn around, when it hits me. That name is mine.

It can't be. It's not fair! I so badly want to run away. I could do it, if I had the nerve and my knees weren't so wobbly. I have to walk up to that stage, there's nothing I can do about it.

I force myself to walk, not looking around at all. Straight ahead might get me to the stage faster. The Peacekeepers leading me there frustrate me.

'I know what to do!' I want to yell.

Somehow I climb the steps, into Adele's impatient arms. She leads me over so that I'm next to Angela.

"District Nine, I give you. . .Angela Jaxson and Grey Whitton! Come on, you two, shake hands."

Angela turns to me slowly, her eyes glossy with fear. She manages to extend one arm. I shake it lightly, as she faces the audience pleadingly.

We're hurried right into the Justice Building.

My mom is there before I can blink. "Come here," she says. She wraps her arms around me, and we don't speak, don't think, don't hear. . .all we need is each other for these final few minutes. Me and her. She and I. That's the way it's always been, and now she's losing the only person she loves.

She lets go, but looks into my eyes, worried. I'm not going to be coming home, and we both know it, even if we don't want to admit it. I'm not exceptional at anything. I don't have good survival skills. I can barely lift a sword, let alone kill someone with it. I'll be dead in two seconds, I'm sure.

Still, I can't tell her that. "I'll be fine, Mom. You know I will be."

She bites her lip harder; her eyes go wider. "I know. You'll be fine. You're gonna' come home, and we'll be even more wealthy than when we lived on Donegan," she says with fake enthusiasm. Her expression is easy to read. There's no more hope for me. This is the end. "Well, you know what they say in the Capitol," she says. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

She leaves after a final goodbye hug and kiss.

Maybe the odds will be in my favor.

But it's hard to count on.

~Chapter One – Part Four: Beginning of the Journey~

I take a dazzling crystal glass with a fruity red juice and bring it to my lips. The spotless train is full of luxuries. Stuffed with forest-green chairs, mahogany tables, platters and platters of dainty snacks, white flowers with dainty scents in ornate glass vases. Grand wood accents, dark and glossy. Chandeliers line the ceiling and give a warm glow to the main compartment. The green carpet, spanned throughout the cabin, is embroidered to the finest all the way to the edges and tips.

Angela sits next to me. We don't speak a word. Maybe it's because there aren't enough memories. Maybe because we're not friendly. Happy. Maybe we're not particularly fond of each other.

Maybe there are no words to say.

My eyes are fixated out the flawless window on the rolling fields of wheat. Golden, glinting in the sunlight, swaying with the light breeze. I never realized how far District 9 expanded, but I'm not going to waste time with anything other than viewing it.

I turn my head for a moment as Adele comes in. She's grinning, her lips caked with neon pink color. "Aren't you excited? Everything here is at your disposal. You two should feel very honored to enjoy these luxuries – you probably never will again."

I'm sickened. We'll never get to enjoy this again? Way to keep us calm.

Tanson – the District 9 mentor – comes in behind her, hand through his mop of red hair. "Hello," he says. "I know you're scared and everything, but if it helps, I'm here to comfort you as best as I can."

Angela looks at me, confused, and then at Tanson. "Well, comfort's not going to help us in the arena when we have five Careers circling us, is it?"

Tanson swallows hard, looks nervous. "Well, ah, no. . .but it'll help. . .ah. . .um. . ."

He's cut off by Adele. "You're probably not going to live very long, anyways, seeing that District Nine never does. So what's the point of preparing you? Cheers!" She exits.

Tanson gives us a look and follows her, and Angela and I are left with each other's company, 9's wheat fields rolling in the background.


	10. District Ten Reapings

**Newbie's A/N: **Again...please visit our fan forum.

* * *

**the epic bookworm's A/N:** Hello, readers! I'm so excited to be a part of this project. Seriously, everyone on this is awesome! Thank you to Dances With Vampires, for being an awesome writer, beta, and funny person; McKala for taking time out of her life to help with this despite not having a tribute; and finally, to AlwaysHasAPlan for beginning this. I hope you enjoy Addy!

**Adeline Matthews, 15 ~ District 10 Female**

**the epic bookworm**

"Addy! Come downstairs, we need get some real work done!" Mother calls.

I hop out of bed. I completely forgot about the quota sent yesterday from the Capitol, I was daydreaming.

Walking down the steps, I feel the rays of sun through our wide kitchen window. Thankfully, we're on the richer side of our district, so we can afford food and a good house. I'm always grateful; I've seen the community home, and it looks like a wretched place to live.

I head to the stables. I dump horse feed into the trough, and the horses flock.

Marie looks up at me, surprise in her eyes. _This is all you're giving me? _she seems to say. I smile and give her an apple. She just gave birth to a foal, after all; she deserves a treat. Then, of course, they all trot up to me.

I head to the barn and let the cows out. They dash, as much as a cow actually can dash, and start tearing away at the grass. They have to be kept in all night, because it can get cold.

Finally, the pigs. This is one of my least favorite parts, because pigs are, well, pigs. They may be cleaner than the stereotype of them, but they're still dirty. I sigh, thankful for my knee-high boots and overalls, and wade in. They snort, smelling the bucket I have in my hand. As fast as I can, I dump the contents of the bucket into the trough and get the hell out of there.

Now comes what is truly the worst part. Sadly, life at a farm isn't all ponies and sunshine. I walk to the shed and take the axe from our pile of tools. I walk back over to the meadow and take Tulip, an older cow that's big enough to satisfy the entire quota of this week.

I lead her to the barn. At first, she resists, because she wants to be out grazing, but eventually she follows me.

I lead her into what we named the Slaughter Station, and slip her into the restrainers. She moos loudly, hating not being able to move.

I lift the axe, wincing and bracing myself.

_Squelch_.

Her final cry is a loud one, full of pain. I've tries to desensitize myself, but I feel empathetic toward the animals and I can hardly bring myself to take their lives.

I can hardly imagine what it would be like in the Games.

I walk across our pretty yard, back to the house. I take off my boots and head upstairs. The reapings are late here, something about the Capitol wanting to watch all the reapings live, so I go inside and take a nap.

Dreams. Strange worlds that I enter, some without sound, some in black-and-white, some as vivid as I could imagine. No nightmares.

"Addy." Jonas, my father, steps into the cloudy world that I'm currently inhabiting.

I stretch, groan, and realize that it's already 12:00. I need to get ready.

I take out my long, curly blond hair and brush it, deciding to leave it out. Working on a farm, wearing my hair loose wouldn't be the most practical of options, and reaping day is special, so I may as well do something different.

I'm not particularly nervous. I mean, if it happens, it happens; I can't do much to stop it, so I won't work myself up about it. And it's very unlikely, anyways; I didn't have to take tesserae and I'm only fifteen!

"Ad', Mother says you need to go!" Miles, my little brother, calls.

I slip on a pretty light blue dress and head downstairs.

"Mi', Del', I'll see you later." I hug my siblings. Delilah's always been more worried about me being reaped than Miles, but both seem a bit nervous.

I cross the field to the street. We live a little ways from town and we don't have a car, but I don't mind walking. It's not long enough to merit driving.

"Addy!" I turn around to see Cecily Thomson waving. Cecily isn't my closest friend, but we're in the same grade and she's friendly.

"Hi, Cecily." I wave in return and walk over to her. "I like your dress."

It's a nice pale yellow one.

"Thanks, yours is pretty too."

The conversation continues, both of us avoiding the present day. Once we get to the square, our pretense evaporates.

"Good luck, Addy." She smiles.

"You too."

We walk over to the sign-in line, and I watch the emotionless woman take a boy's finger and press it to a small device. I know all too well what that does.

I remember at my first reaping, Mother had forgotten to mention the identification process. When I saw the needle enter the other kids' flesh, I was scared out of my wits. I always hated needles, I still do, and combined with the swarm of Peacekeepers and the general "first reaping" fear, I was freaking out.

"Next," the woman calls.

I hate this part.

She wipes my finger—always the index finger, for reasons unknown to me—and presses the device. There's a beep, and the needle enters. I wince. I actually have a fairly high pain tolerance, but needles just freak me out. She hands me a gauze, and I walk to the fifteen-year-old's section.

Our escort, the ever-dull Beatrix Alistair, takes the stage. There are rumors that her parents forced her into the job and she would rather be a Gamemaker, but I try not to gossip.

"Welcome, everyone. It's the Thirty-seventh Hunger Games."

No, really?

"Our female tribute is Adeline Matthews. Let's give her a hand."

_What? _Me? Impossible. But apparently, very possible.

I walk to the stage, numb. _How did this happen?_

"And our male tribute is Rameses Johnson. Congratulations."

I shake hands with Rameses, and we go into the Justice Building.

Before I even sit down, my family bursts in.

"Addy! How could this have happened?" My mother sobs. They all hug me and press a small notebook into my hand. It's tiny, with a leather cover. I open it and see their signatures.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you all." I smile.

I'm either in shock, or simply accepting it. I think it's the former: I may be sweet, I may be kind, but I'm not strong. At least I'm honest.

I snicker to myself.

"What's so funny?" Delilah inquires.

"Nothing. Just irony," I reply.

"What's irony?" Sometimes I forget she's only seven.

"When something happens in such an unexpected way that it's funny. When something comes back to bite you on the ass. Remember that winter at when you and your friends launched a snowball attack on Louisa Donovan and her friends?

She grins. "Oh yes."

"But then, when you thought they were done, they launched a sneak attack on you?"

She scowls. "Yes."

"That's irony." I hug her one last time. "They're calling for me on the train, so I have to go. I love you all, okay?"

"Please come home."

"I'll try."

I board the train, taking one last look at my beautiful district. Despite its flaws, I love living here - the hard work, the gorgeous hills and forests, and the animals make it all worth it. I know I'm lucky, and that there are some kids who have it much harder than I do.

My district partner, Rameses, seems… nice, but odd. He's _very _quiet, a difference from most in District 10. He also seems very clever. I'm smart enough, but I'm no genius like he seems to be.

"Rameses, how old are you?" I make an attempt to open a conversation.

"I'm fourteen, Adeline," he replies coolly.

"Call me Addy," I smile. "I'm fifteen."

He's taller than me, though. I'm on the short side, and he's tall for his age.

"Hm." He looks bored and a little patronizing. If he's going to be like that, he can for all I care! I was just trying to be friendly.

I walk to the relaxation car, because _everyone _knows that the best place to relax is a fight to the death! Oh well, if I'm being sent to my death, I may as well have comfy couches before I die.

Silas, one of the mentors for District 10, is sitting there.

"Adeline," he says calmly.

"Addy, if you don't mind." I reply cheerily, internally rolling my eyes. For God's sake, just call me Addy! It saves a syllable.

"Addy, then. I'm Silas Bell, your mentor. Where's Rameses?"

"I'm not sure. I was talking to him near the door though, earlier."

"Adeline, it's dinnertime," Beatrix interrupts. "The food looks delicious, so I would suggest getting it before it's cold." She doesn't seem as thrilled as her words suggest.

I enter the dining car, and see the tables stacked with sumptuous food.

Rameses and Lisette, the other mentor, are already eating. I smile, sit, and pile my plate with bread, chicken, cheese, fruit, and pasta. I haven't eaten since breakfast.

"So. What are your skills?" Silas asks.

"I—"

"-I'm good with a lasso and an axe. I'm strong and a good climber. I can swim pretty well," I list. Oops, I cut Rameses off. Not a good start to a friendship.

"I know some things," Rameses begins quietly. "I can run for a while. . .I know some poisonous stuff. And I'm good with biology and the human body. If I get a knife, I can do some damage."

"That seems like a good skill set," says Lisette. "You'll do well in the arena, I think. It all depends if you can get a knife."

Lisette may be cheery and may have won her games with charm, but she's whip-smart.

"Don't go to the Cornucopia," Lisette interjects negatively. "Biggest source of Bloodbath deaths."

Rameses nods. "I don't need a knife!" he protests. "A pointy stick will do just fine! Just something sharp enough to pierce flesh."

"Good," Lisette smiles. "Now, do you want to be mentored separately or together?"

"Separately," I say in unison with Rameses. He may be a useful ally, but somehow I just don't trust him. He seems a little too smart, scarily smart.

"Alright," Lisette said. "We'll start tomorrow. Go to bed now, so you can get a good night's sleep. I know that doesn't come very often in District Ten, what with the animals and all."

I get at least eleven hours of sleep a night.

Rameses smiles at me, and I smile back.

I head to my bedroom. I'm much more tired than I thought I was, the day has taken its toll. I can't believe it was today that I was milking the cows, giving an extra apple to Marie, and killing Tulip.

When I enter my bedroom, I'm blown away by the splendor that the room offers. A massive, fluffy bed, a huge TV screen, a luxurious couch, and a panel on the wall that I can order food from. Well, at least I'll be living my last days in comfort.

I take off my blue dress and put on a pair of silky pajamas from the large cupboard. _Why do they have so many clothes? I'm never going to wear all these. _I roll my eyes. The pajamas fit perfectly. How on earth did they do that in a day?

I climb into the bed, snuggle into the blankets, and shut off the light, drifting quickly into a sleep.

_Lightning flashes._

_The little brother screams. __The little frightened girl runs into the barn, curling up in a haystack, praying he won't find her._

"_Addy, are you there? Addy? Come out!" He screams, his drunken rage slurring his words. _"_Come out, Adeline!"_

_She's scared._

"_There you are, dear," he says, raising the knife. He brings it over my back, her blood staining the haystack._

_This is pain she's never felt before._

I scream, waking up. Practically in a trance, I reach towards my back and feel the long scar that runs diagonally the length. I forgot where it came from. I might remember now. I need to forget again; ignorance is a blessing.

But can I? Is this real?

* * *

**Rameses Johnson, 14 ~ District 10 Male **

**3rdbase101**

I wipe the blood off my hand, smearing my apron. I frown as the pure white garment is ruined from a habit I'm trying to break.

With a sigh, I take off my apron and walk out of the dark back room with a package of meat in one hand and the apron in the other. I hand my mother the meat, and walk out the front door toward my home.

"Rameses," she calls, just before I'm out of earshot. Silently grumbling, I turn around in the door frame.

"Yes, Mother?" I force out, fatigue and annoyance making my voice sound harsh.

My mother Tuya gives the meat to a customer, and continues speaking as she puts the money in a cash register. "Your father wanted to see you before the reaping," she says jovially. She ignores my loud groan and smiles. "Make sure you look presentable, OK? Last year's overalls didn't make the cut."

I smile to myself, remembering the day. I had gotten such odd looks from the girls in nice dresses. They made fun of me afterwards, but I just pushed it off. I never really cared about what they thought, anyway.

Mom walks out from behind the counter and motions for me. "You're getting so tall," she murmurs, smoothing my black hair. "You're a handsome boy, Rameses," she says loudly, stepping away from my lanky figure. "I don't know why you don't use it!"

Rolling my eyes, I walk from my parents' small butcher shop and down the street. It's a cloudy day, and I can smell rain on the wind. It would just stand for the _best_ reaping day ever, wouldn't it?

The dirt road is packed hard beneath my feet as I trudge home. Truthfully, I'm not really looking forward to it. My father is probably helping the cows, and my older sister is busying herself around the house. They will both ask me how my morning went, which isn't how I want to spend the time before the reaping at all.

I got up at the crack of dawn (which was as cloudy and disgusting as it is now) to relieve my sister in the shop. My family runs the store from very early until very late to 'maximize business', my father says.

In truth, my family isn't doing too well. We have a small plot of land with a few cows, and the shop, but nothing much else. That's another reason I don't want to go home; I can't stand to be in the almost-empty house anymore.

I smile wistfully at the thought of the one place I love being: school. I'm more of the loner type, but I get a much better education because of it. Instead of worrying who is going out with who, I'm more focused on what is being assigned to me.

I look up as the dirt path forks. The left leads to town, and the right leads to the small cluster of homes my house is a part of. Seti, my father, is waiting in the door with a weighty look on his face.

"This can't be good," I mutter, picking up the pace. As I get closer, I inspect my father. Lines crisscross in well-traveled roads all over his face, and his light blue eyes look out wearily. "What happened, Father?"

He grunts, motioning. Obediently, I follow him to the small stable in the back. One of our only cows is lying on the ground, moaning and panting in pain.

"She's having trouble birthing that calf. I figured I'd get your help before you get changed."

I scowl, but there is truth to my father's words. With a grumble, I kneel and hold the cow's head while my father tries to bring the calf out.

My mind wanders, thinking of things I learned in school. The cow jerks, and I grip her tighter before continuing into my reverie. There won't be any school today, which is depressing. I was looking forward to dissecting frogs in Biology. I already have a lot of experience in the exact placement of organs, but it would be interesting to see it on such a small scale.

My father grunts, and there is a wet noise as the calf finally appears. He laughs once, looking towards me for approval. I manage a small, cold smile before getting up and wiping the clingy mud off of my pants. I walk away from my father without so much as a backwards glance as I enter the house.

Unexpectedly, my sister is not present. I trudge up the small steps, and stare at myself in the mirror at the top. With a shrug, I continue on into the bathroom to start preparations.

My sister set out clothes for me, most likely at our mother's insistence. I put on the black dress pants with some regret, because I really don't like their feel. The crisp white shirt is even more of a bother, because it rubs my skin the wrong way.

I grab a washcloth from the rack and soap it up before furiously scrubbing my face clean. My light green eyes show out of a mask of white bubbles, making me laugh a little. I decide it's about time to go to the reaping. Maybe I'll find Leya there.

I wave to my father absentmindedly as I pass him on the way to town. The scent of rain is heavier now, and I'm certain it will rain before the train carrying the dead tributes leaves the station.

A large group of people have gathered at the town square, but the noise level is surprisingly quiet. I scan the crowd and sigh when I don't find anybody I know. I slog to the fourteen-year-old section, waiting patiently for the reaping to begin.

"Hey," a quiet voice says, slightly to my left. I turn to it with relief and see my only friend, Addam. "How you holdin' up, bud?" He puts his hand on my shoulder.

I shrug it off, though a large smile is still prominent on my face. "I woke up early today, Addam," I explain, ignoring the elderly mayor that mounts the steps. "Had to work, like always. But I got in some more practice in locating certain organs."

Addam laughs, which is slightly out of place within the dead-silent square. He talks right over the mayor's speech, since every child knows it by heart. "You bio-freak," he jokes, playfully punching me in the shoulder.

"Girls first." The escort dips her hand into the bowl.

I start, because I didn't even notice the Capitol woman. Beatrix Allistair is duller than the other escorts, but she's still much more eccentric than anyone that lives in District 10. She swirls her hand around, making sure that every eye is on her drawing.

"Our female tribute is Adeline Matthews. Let's give her a hand," Beatrix says, looking out into the crowd. I hear a few girls sigh in relief, and I know my sister will be silently celebrating surviving her second-to-last reaping.

The girls from the fifteen-year-old section part, leaving a shorter blonde-haired girl all alone. She walks up numbly, her face thick with shock. I snort to myself, wondering what could possibly be going through her mind. Nothing much, probably.

The girl, Adeline, stands on top of the stage nervously. She doesn't seem like such a big contender. Some tributes who are shocked when their names are called never get out of that mindset.

"And now for the boys," Beatrix says, completely ignoring Adeline. Like before, she digs her hand around in the bowl for a few seconds before capturing a little slip. "Our male tribute is Rameses Johnson. Congratulations."

I jump, completely surprised. A laugh bubbles to my lips as I walk out of the crowd. I should have expected this. I've often taken out tesserae, although nothing compared to some people in my district.

The girl on stage shakes my hand delicately, and I offer a small, cynical smile.

"I now present to you," the escort says, "your tributes for the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games." The crowd is silent, like I expect.

I scan the gathered people, finally finding those I want. My parents are silently weeping far in the back, but my sister is staring wide-eyed at the stage. Her arms are around her girlfriend, as if they have just been celebrating not being reaped.

Silas, the older mentor, hurries us off-stage and into the Justice Building. I give a forlorn look to Adeline before I'm escorted into my own lavishly decorated room, but she isn't paying attention. Probably pre-occupied with shock.

A few seconds pass slowly before my mother comes rushing into the room.

"Rameses, my baby!" she sobs, smoothing down my medium-length hair. My father follows slowly, his mouth pressed into a hard line. "How could you? Someone should have volunteered! You're only fourteen!"

Leya enters last, holding Maya's hand as if it was the only thing tying her to this world. "You're going to live," she says forcefully, letting go of her rock and clinging to me. "You know things. . .survival things! You can work better with a knife than anyone I know. You need to come home. I can't be the only surviving child." Near the end, her voice begins to break.

Breaking all the codes I set for myself, I lean forward and embrace her. Leya sobs, her tears dampening my not-so-white shirt.

Maya sits next to me on the ornate couch and talks rapidly. "You're young, you are." She bluntly points out the obvious. "But Leya's right. You know things, and you're smart. Be careful, and don't die." She gets up, slowly pulling Leya away. "You got this," she whispers, leaning close toward me. She opens my palm and secretly slips something hard in it.

Following Maya, my mother also stands up. She hiccups once, kissing me on the top of the head before departing.

My father looks at me with confusion in his eyes, and I understand. He has never been good with emotional things. I clasp him in a large hug. "I love you," I whisper, before he slips through the open door.

Left alone again, I think of what just happened. Surely this is a dream! That's it. I fell asleep shortly after helping my father with the calf, and I'm just dreaming the worst!

My hopes are shattered as Addam walks in. I can't imagine such a heartbroken face, not even if I tried. "You got reaped," he whispers, sitting down, as if he can't believe my fate either.

I can't answer, and only nod dumbly.

"You gotta' win, Ram," he mutters, holding my arm tightly in his clenched hands. "None of those other people deserve it like you. You're the best guy I know out of these other tributes. Plus you got some training from living in Ten. Just. . .stay away from the Careers. . .they'll rip you apart."

I nod again, turning to face Addam fully. "Thank you," I whisper, trying to hold back tears.

Addam stands when the door is opened by a Peacekeeper, and waves listlessly to me. And just like that, I'm alone.

When a sufficient amount of time has passed to make sure my family is out of sight, another Peacekeeper opens the door. "Time to go," she says gruffly, waving her thin hands in an exasperated movement.

Although I hate orders, if I disobey, the woman will say something, and then the Gamemakers will make my life hell. It is best if I follow.

By the train, the two mentors wait. Lisette waves to me happily, but Silas only grunts.

Lisette follows me into the train, her steps perky and energetic. Silas is probably waiting for Adeline to come out of the Justice Building.

"How can you be so happy?" I snarl, turning on the young mentor. Her smile falters for a second, before coming back on twice as strong. "Do you enjoy death? 'Cause even in the best case, only half of your tributes are coming out alive!"

Lisette's smile fades, to be replaced with a thin frown. "I know that only one of you will win, in the best case," she says quietly. "But it's my job to make sure that that happens, and I think it makes the tribute feel better if I'm not angry all the time." She pauses slightly. "Like Silas."

I nod, never taking my eyes off of her. "Are you my mentor? Why?"

The corner of Lisette's lips curl up slightly, as if she's trying not to smile. "We talked it out beforehand. I thought I'd be better suited to you and your. . .particular skills, so that's why I chose to mentor you."

Deliberately avoiding looking at Lisette's face, I study the train. It is ornamented brightly and rather tackily. Gold and precious metals are visible on nearly every surface, and the entire compartment had a nice, cinnamon-y scent. Much better than the scent of manure, I determine.

I relent, looking Lisette full-on. She smiles briefly, before her face returns to blank again. "Go check out your bedroom," she prompts, pointing down the gilt hallway. "We'll be meeting everyone for dinner soon."

I manage a wavering smile at her before continuing down the hallway. Ornate decorations hang on every wall, making me wonder exactly how much money these people have. It's certainly much more than I have ever seen.

On the way, I meet Adeline. She looks at me for a few seconds with an unsure glance, before trying to start up a conversation. "Rameses, how old are you?"

I contain the snort of laughter that tries to escape my mouth. "I'm fourteen, Adeline," I reply, surprised at her stupidity. You are being sent into a fight to the death with one other person from your home, and the first thing you ask is their _age_? It shows me that she isn't too bright or perceptive. She should have recognized what section I came out of when I was reaped. It's not that hard.

"Call me Addy," she says, her face dominated by a large smile. "I'm fifteen," she continues, despite the fact that I haven't asked her age. I know that already, because I'm perceptive.

I grunt, not really interested in the conversation anymore. I nod to her before continuing to walk down the hallway to the rooms.

The door on the left I claim as mine, and it opens on a large bedroom. Holding in a gasp, I walk around the entire thing. A pure white door on the side even opens to my own bathroom. This show of money is almost too much, especially for a poor farmer boy.

I sit on the bed and place my head in my hands. The Capitolites are pampering me before I'm thrust into an arena to fight for my life. It's certainly one of the better ways to go in Panem.

I really can't do much. Sure, I have great stamina. It's required when working with herd animals for most of your life. I know some poisonous plants, but I'm very far from knowing all of them.

My most useful talent is my knowledge of the human body. If one didn't know about it, they could stab a tribute ten times and they'd still live. I, however, could use a pointy stick and kill a tribute easily by piercing the soft skin between the ear and jaw. A quick, bloodless death. And there are many other places that would work.

I pick my head up as I hear Lisette call my name, and I realize I've been in a reverie for a good twenty minutes. Quickly, I shed my clothes and don nicer, blue ones.

"You look so nice!" Lisette exclaims as I walk out of the hallway. I tip my head at her and sit down suddenly at the laden table. Food of all sorts is piled, and I immediately pull a few onto a golden plate. "Don't eat too much," she warns, but I ignore her.

With a grunt, I bite into a tender chicken thigh and sigh when the first bite hits my pallet. It's so savory, and I haven't often had chicken back in District Ten. The thought of the Capitol pampering me flashes across my mind again, but I drown it with a sip of tart juice.

"So," Lisette says, speaking to me from across the table, "what are some of your skills?"

I swallow, looking at her. I open my mouth, but am unsure of what to tell her. I don't want to dampen her mood about me. Lisette needs to have confidence to send me gifts, and I need to not sound pathetic.

With a shrug, I stuff a whole biscuit in my mouth. She looks at me expectantly, but I'm still thinking. I figure it's best to just tell the truth. I swallow the dry biscuit as quickly as I can, but the silence drags on.

"I know some things," I start, not very confident about my skills, especially compared with the Careers. "I can run for a while. . .I know some poisonous stuff. And I'm good with biology and the human body. If I get a knife, I can do some damage."

Lisette nods thoughtfully, her mouth pursed. "That seems like a good skill set. You'll do well in the arena, I think. It all depends if you can get a knife. Don't go to the Cornucopia," she adds. "Biggest source of bloodbath deaths."

I nod fervently. "I don't need a knife! A pointy stick will do just fine! Just something sharp enough to pierce flesh."

Lisette smiles. "Good. Now, I assume you don't want to be mentored with Addy because you just spilled all your secrets to me, right?"

I nod again, so grateful that she brought it up. I really wouldn't want to be mentored with her, because she would bring me down. Anyone who insists that she be called by a nickname is not worth my time. It just means she's lazy, because it's only one more syllable to say.

"Alright," Lisette says. "We'll start tomorrow. Go to bed now, so you can get a good night's sleep. I know that doesn't come very often in District Ten, what with the animals and all." She smiles and giggles at her little joke. She understands, but she hasn't had a bad night's sleep because of animals in a while.

I thank my mentor and push away from the table. She offered me some confidence about my skills, but I'm still unsure about the whole thing. I couldn't grapple with a big Career in hand-to-hand and win.

At my door, I look around, expecting to see Adeline. However, my expectations fall short. She is nowhere in sight, and I slip into my room without a second glance.

I wonder to myself what Adeline's skills would be. She doesn't seem to be very smart, but she's physically strong. She'll probably have a few skills common to District Ten. If I had a dollar for every time I saw a District Ten tribute that was good with a lasso, I wouldn't be in the financial situation I am now.

Without taking off my clothes, I fall into bed. I feel like I'm floating on a cloud, because it's so much puffier than the bed I sleep on at home. Everything begins falling down on me all at the same time.

I am going into the Hunger Games. There is no doubt about it. I am going to fight to the death with other children, some who have been training their entire lives. I am going to go in with a few small skills. I am going to go fight in front of national television, in front of my family and best friend.

And I am going to win. Win just so that I can say, 'I told you so'. Win just so I can move my family out of our tiny house and into a much larger one in the Victor's Village.

A genuine smile graces my lips, and I fall asleep thinking happy thoughts in a whirlwind of depression.


	11. District Eleven Reapings

**Newbie's A/N: **I just thought I'd explain a bit. The District 11 male's reaping will come later for certain reasons. We're sorry if this is disappointing.

**Dance's A/N****: **Well, actually. . .as of September 9th, 2012. . .we're not sure if the District 11 male's reaping will come at all. =(

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**Rosemary Thyme****, 16 ~ District 11 Female**

**CrazedWolfPuppy**

I dream.

Okay, something wrong is going to happen. I instantly wake up and get out of bed.

I remember the last time I woke from a dream instead of a nightmare: my twin brother (we were twelve at the time) was chosen by the reaping to be tribute. I just hope there is no repeat. I won't let Posy go to the Games; I'll take her place, I know I will. I won't allow anyone to follow in my brother's footsteps.

I slept in my clothes again, stupid me. I change and try to remember what I should do.

I sneak out of my house and go to my favorite tree. I climb and pluck an apple close to the trunk. I put it under my shirt and sneak to other trees – one apple for each of my family members, two for my mother on account of her being with child. I'm glad to have another sibling, but truthfully, he/she is only another mouth to feed. Another child that has the risk of being chosen for the Games, and I might not be able to stop it from happening.

I head back inside and see everyone is already awake. I pass out the apples, and my brothers' and sisters' eyes light up. Five happy faces sit down at the table, eating the apples and tesserae grain.

I'm the oldest of the family: me, sixteen-year-old Rosemary Thyme. Then thirteen-year-old Posy, ten-year-old Jay, and seven-year-old Talon. I love my family. I guess I should tell about Mom and Dad.

Mom is Rosa, and Dad is Celino. Mom's dad used to be mentor, but he died a few years ago. So we don't have any extra money anymore.

Mom's dad Ash was so cool. He had long black hair, and it was in dreadlocks. He never just spent his money because he had it. He passed it out to people, and all our lives were better. He gave us a large portion because we were family, and we loved visiting him after school and such. We were so close. Everyone was devastated when he died.

Things were a lot easier when he was around, but it doesn't matter. We still work, and we pretty much hoard the money and only buy things when we absolutely have to. Otherwise, we live on tesserae and the apples I manage to squirrel.

If the Peacekeepers ever find out about the apples, I'm dead, but the risk is worth it. I've been teaching Posy, Jay, and Talon how to do it without getting caught. Talon is the best, because he's the smallest and lightest. Jay is second best, and Posy comes in close last. Well, Mom doesn't like I've been teaching them the trade, but she lets me because we all know that we can't live solely on tesserae.

I hate everything about this world. We have stories and books about how things used to be, and I've memorized every tale. Every song and fairy tale. So many memories, and some are stranger than others. I know everything was much better in those days.

After breakfast we all get cleaned and dressed up. Posy wears a pretty pink dress. I braid her hair up on her head with little pink ribbons. I'm similarly dressed to her, except I'm a dark green. Mom is wearing her special pretty light green dress. I braid my mother's hair so she doesn't go with it down like always. Jay, Talon, and Dad wear their nice shirts and pants.

Now the fun comes along: heading to the town square for the reaping. We have to leave early so we make it on time, being at the very far edge of the district.

I stand at the front, while sweet Posy stands near the back. Her dark honey-and-chocolate eyes are wide and shining with excitement. She's playing with her very long, thick, carefully braided dark brown hair. Her dark skin matches her eyes. I give her an encouraging smile and look to the front.

I look like an older version of her, and Mom looks like an older version of me. Dad and the boys look similar, except they all have hazel-nut-brown eyes and their skin is darker.

Pallas Lenore welcomes us happily with her funny accent, and blah blah blah. She's a driven social climber, but really, she's just annoying. She has bubblegum-blue hair and normally wears a simple cream-colored suit. This year is no exception.

". . .And may the odds be ever in your favor. Ladies first!" She walks over to the girls' reaping ball and digs around in the huge glassy orb. "Genesis Thyme!"

Instantly, Posy wraps her small arms around me. "Don't go, Rosy! I'll go – don't go, Rosy!"

I detach her, giving her one last hug before heading to the stage. Several of Posy's friends hold her back. She cries hard and tries to run to me. I shake my head and give her a firm look. She sobs and hugs her friends as they take her back to her place in line.

"Touching," Pallas Lenore says, smiling her seriously fake smile. I wish I could punch her right in her artificial nose! "Are there any volunteers?"

My head snaps to Posy. She is looking at me. I give her a look, like: 'Stay put', and she doesn't move.

I look directly at a camera; my face says, 'You'll pay for hurting my family.' I let them see my determination and hate.

I hope the Capitol sees. I hope everyone sees how I look. How I feel. I have the urge to do something stupid, something I'd regret, but I won't for Posy's sake. I promise to keep my family safe from the Capitol forever and ever.

Next victim, I think, as she crosses the stage to the other glass ball. I try to keep my distaste to a minimum, but I'm failing horribly.

The clouds are covering the sun, giving everyone some shade, so that's nice. The sky is a nice, sweet blue – jay-blue. Everything is cool, until she calls the guy's name.

"Nabby Ruthaw!"

And the boy walks up as if he'll own these Games. He has dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and dark skin; he has this roguish look about him, like he might just do something crazy. This is the guy I see in class pulling pranks and snickering all the time. Frankly, his pranks are not funny. Everyone else loves it, though. Puts some fun in our being slaves to the Capitol.

"Any volunteers?"

She looks around and sees no one.

"And here are our tributes of District Eleven!"

The wind whistles as people clap. Everyone knows my family and me. Everyone likes Posy and me; her tears make everyone angry.

"Shakes hands now," Pallas says brightly.

I shake hands with him. Then we're led off to the Justice Building so we can give our last goodbyes away.

It's a nice room. Red plush velvet pillows, couch, chair, stuff like that. There's a carpet, assorted paintings, and light blue walls.

I see my family come in. All my siblings hug me, and Mom and Dad hug all of them plus me.

"Posy, you're the oldest now. If anything happens to me, I want you to take care of them. Don't let us go under. Mom, Dad, no matter what you see, don't space – they need you now more than ever."

"Win this for us, Rosy," Talon says. "Win it, I know you can. I know you can."

"Yeah, Rosy, you can win!" Jay says.

"Don't worry, I'll try my hardest," I say.

"You can do it, Rosy! We believe in you! You're the prettiest girl, so they'll totally sponsor you!" Posy says confidently. "We'll be rooting for you!"

"Thanks, Posy, you're a good girl," I say, and ruffle her hair. She giggles and smiles at me. I wipe her face to clear away the tears in her eyes.

A Peacekeeper opens the door. "Time's up," he says, and my family files out.

A friend of mine, Birch, walks in and hugs me. Birch's complexion reminds me of a birch tree at night. He has thick curly black hair that reaches his shoulders. His eyes normally shine pale gray like the moon – but they aren't shining now; they are dead serious.

"Things are tough in the arena, that's all I can say. Find wood, trees, food, live near water. Knives are useful, and you know how to throw well. I want you to come home."

"I want to come home, too, and hopefully it won't be in a brown casket," I say, shrugging.

"This isn't a game, even though it's called the Hunger Games."

"Everyone knows this. I know knives, I know swords. I'll need a bow. I've got that part down," I say, giving him a look.

We've trained – well, not really trained, more like prepared – for this exact situation. We've been throwing knives and practicing with makeshift bows, and the Peacekeepers never found out. We had to make sure that if one of us got chosen, we'd come back. I'm glad we did.

"Good, that's all you need to know. As long as you do what you do best, you'll win," Birch says quickly.

"All right. I've got it."

"Good. I love you, Rosy," he says, and kisses me. He leaves me, and I stare after him with a bright red blush on my cheeks. I never thought that he really loved me! There's a knot in my heart now.

"Ah," I say, and I'm back to normal by the time the Peacekeepers take me to the train station.

I see Nabby again. I give him a light smile, and the cameras a hateful look, and head inside the train.

I watch out the window for a moment as we pull away. Then I head to my room in a bewildered daze. Birch loves me! I had always hoped.

I lay on my bed with my reaping dress still on. I'm keeping it; it's my token in the arena anyway. Since I don't–

"Ouch." I sit up and rub my back, and my hand comes away with a tiny bit of blood on it. I check the spot on my dress in a mirror. I see that the secret pocket has come in handy once again.

I reach into the pocket and pull out a necklace. It's a silver woven birch tree inside a silver ring. A simple leather strip lets it dangle just above my heart. Birch, you crazy boy, you always know just what to do. I wish he were here. . .

Well, no, I don't. I don't want him here with me, I just want him here so I can hug him and then let him go again. I want to go home and forget the reaping. I hate reapings! I hate them!

I pace around my room, hoping for something good to happen, but nothing comes along. Darkness falls like black ink across the sky, blocking stars and moon from view. The shadows crawl toward me like hungry serpents. I step on them, just to make sure they aren't real.

I continue to pace, trying to tire, but it's not working. Somehow I've gotten adrenaline into my system, and it won't stop flowing. What if I spontaneously die right now? What'll they do about it?

I'm glad I always carry a book with me, because now I need it.

This old book is the only one of its kind that survived in the district. My mother's mother, and her mother before her, owned this book. It's a family heirloom that everyone has restored. I'm like the tenth or eleventh person to try. So far, so good, I guess. I mean, I'm not really good at the restoring part.

The gold letters on the front are faded, so I never knew what it was called, and now the letters are worn and the pages a little torn from how many times it's been read. Old people are here, they lived longer than most of us today. People like Moses and Abraham. I sit down to read, and as I do, I fill in the missing letters with a pencil. Some words make no sense at all, but it doesn't matter. I've learned that they may just only be names of things. They have strange recollections, and I wonder if it's all real. I wonder if it could be my token. I'll carry them both into the arena.

I feel my hair. It's so thick that a braid is the only way to tame it. So I always keep it in a braid, even if it's a simple one. I hide the necklace in my hair, and wonder briefly if I could hide the book in my hair, too. Naw, that wouldn't work.

I finally give up and take a tiny bit of sleep syrup. I curl up with the book in my arms and a dream in my head: a dream of Birch and me, a dream I never thought possible – a simple, sweet dream of just us in this world, in the forever of my mind. The dream is just a warning, a warning that I might not want to acknowledge, but I have to anyway. The dream isn't a nightmare.

I wake up early morning, and take a shower. I fold the dress and put on some better clothes; I now wear simple black cotton. I want to feel normal again. No dresses, no skirts, just a shirt and pants. Nothing fancy; I don't feel like looking like an idiotic Capitol girl. We make fun of Capitol people.

I take a look around and head out to the main. . .thing – I don't know what the heck it is. I hate trains, I know nothing about them, and they only take people to their deaths. Or Capitol people to their home. Stupid trains, and their stupid. . .Capitol operators, and. . .and. . .GRRR! I wish I could just. . .stop thinking about how horrid everything is.

I enter the dining area and see an Avox. I hesitate. A flash of Birch crosses my vision. The Avox has his same gray eyes. Just like the moon. I can see myself in them. I can see his indifference towards me, and I can envision Birch looking at me like that. It hurts, it hurts badly, and I'm so glad that this Avox isn't Birch. But what if Birch does become an Avox? What if the Peacekeepers find out about him training, and they send him here. . .?

But I shove the thought away, and serve myself before going back to my room.

I eat in silence. I'm laying down, with my feet up in the air. I eat and read at the same time, hoping they'll leave me alone.

It's informative of an old something Mom calls "religion". I don't get it, but that's just me. Mom loves it; she says it gives her hope of the "afterlife". Frankly, that idea creeps me out, but oh well.

I'm in. . .Genesis right now. I don't know what "genesis" means, but it sounds cool. My mom also thought so, and named me after it – so really, I'm Genesis Rosemary, but I just use Rosemary; I don't like introducing myself as Genesis.

Birch always liked my first name, and called me it whenever something unimportant was going on. We'd argue. He'd say it's cool, and I'd say I like Rosemary better. And then he'd say that when I'm married, he won't tease me anymore. I'm going to hold him to it. Now that I know that he wanted to be the one who married me in the first place. . .I have to win. I have to.

I get up, and pick up my knife and weigh it in my hand. Curiously, I throw it hard into the wall and see it sink.

"Nice," I say, and retrieve it.

I cover up the spot so no one knows.

I wipe off the knife and smile confidently.

"I'm going to win these Games, and I'll do anything to do it. I'll be breathing when I come back to you, Birch. I promise."


	12. District Twelve Reapings

**Wjj's A/N: **That's right - I have the _power_ to do this! So, um, beware!

Anyway, you should really go take a look at the fan forum.

We really hope you enjoy this chapter! IT'S THE END OF THE REAPINGS!**  
**

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**Arianias Houldon, 12 ~ District 12 Female**

**newbie11**

Ugh! I wish my parents would just leave me alone! "Stand up straight." "Do your hair." "Stay in the boundaries." "Be a lady." "STOP IGNORING US!" I wish their voices would leave me alone!

I just want to leave this miserable district, but I'll stay. Mayor Mom would easily find me. I just want freedom! They should understand, especially Dad. He did grow up with Grandpa, after all: the good man of the Seam. Though my mother despises Grandpa, I love him. He's where I get my Seam look, since both of my parents look like the merchants that they were born as.

Just looking at "my" bedroom makes me want to scream. It's all neat and tidy, girlish and frilly. I hate it! It is not what I want, or feel like living in. I just want a bed and a window. But no, it has to be all prim and proper.

I should get going; I'm going to be late! I quickly slip into black cargo pants and a red t-shirt. My boots are still a little wet from yesterday, but they're the best ones I have. They're from Grandpa.

I think for five seconds, and then I bolt out the door and through the streets of the town, and eventually the Seam. I need to clear my head, and let out some steam with my friends. There's the fence! I listen for the electric current – it's off. I slip through to my own little world. The forest.

I traverse through the forest for about five minutes until I find the usual rendezvous for my gang. There's three of us: me, Gorda, and Nym. And the great thing is, we're all rebels. I sit down and start to pull out our equipment. We have swords fashioned from sticks, and padding to wear for when we spar. The padding's makeshift, but it works great!

"Hey, Ari!" Gorda runs to me. But I bet she's feeling down. Today's the reaping. We're all pretty bummed about it.

I smile in her direction as I put on my padding. She only smiles back, and straps hers on. Nym already said she wasn't coming, especially after I was flogged yesterday. But that wasn't for escaping boundaries; it was for a few other things not needing to be mentioned. It didn't hurt anyway.

We pick up our 'swords', then we take our starting stances. My sword is held sideways, along my chest. For the beginning of defense, the most important part of sword-fighting.

She nods, indicating to begin. I lunge. The offensive is important too. She blocks my blow, which would have gotten her heart. But I quickly get her out of the hold position, into the position she's weakest in. Then with a quick motion, I have my foot on her blade, stuck to the floor, and the point of mine at her neck. I'm good at this, and I enjoy it.

Gorda stares at me, dumbfounded, for a moment. Then she laughs her wonderful laugh, and I join. After a minute, we put our equipment away. We nod to each other, and then leave our little world.

* * *

Darn, my mom found me a dress. It's pink, and frilly, and I won't be taken seriously. Why must we look good? Last I checked, it wasn't a celebration, but two teenagers being sentenced to death.

Thank goodness Grandpa gave me a dress too! It's much more me. It's just simpler. It is a lovely shade of forest green, and is to my knees in length. There is a pattern of stars at the bottom, and a thin blue sash to go with it. Grandpa said Grandma made it; I love it even more.

"Arianias! Are you ready yet?" my dad calls from the door.

"Yeah, Dad. Just give me a minute!"

He growls slightly as I pull on my shiny black shoes. Then I'm out of my room and racing through the halls. I slide down the banister, and have a perfect dismount. Then my mom comes in, all prim and proper, as usual.

"Do your hair." There we go again. At least she didn't go on about the dress, though I know she wants to. I grab my comb, and comb it. She scowls. What would it take to please her? Me being obedient? Not happening any time soon.

My parents don't give me a second glance as I check in and head to my little section. What would they do if I got reaped? Would they care? Probably not. In my little section I wait with Nym and Gorda; we don't talk. We just stare at each other. Nym normally doesn't talk anyway, but now it's a depressed silence.

Finally, after another ten minutes of staring, my mom walks up, all smiles. That makes me sick. How can she enjoy this?

Then our escort sits down. They exchange a smile, and the ceremonies begin.

The treaty goes on forever, we already know this stuff! Get on with it! But it still goes on.

". . .And henceforth from this day, this pageant shall be known as the Hunger Games." Good, she's done. Mayor Mom nods to our escort, who plays a short video, and we continue.

"For the girls." He reaches his hand into the jar, and pulls out a single slip of paper. "Arianias Houldon."

Who was that? Was that me?

Before I know what's happening, I scream. The Peacekeepers see me, and the escort sees me. My mom has disappeared. I don't move, why should I?

The crowd clears; some try to push me up. Not going to work, guys. I push them back. Hard. They can't force me, I'll fight them all if necessary.

The Peacekeepers are irritated now. Good. They charge at me. I fight them one at a time, but they swarm me like bugs. There's too many for me to handle, and they drag me up. At least I had a good fight.

The escort's irritated too. Also good. But that might hurt me getting sponsors later.

"Okay, now to the boys," he declares. His face is contorted with disgust at my behavior. Every boy must want to disappear. "Jace Winters." Him especially.

I see movement from one of the sections, and then some boy walks up. He looks like the typical Seam boy; he definitely isn't a stuck-up merchant like _some_ people.

"District Twelve, I present to you your tributes of the Thirty-seventh Hunger Games – Arianias Houldon and Jace Winters!" His face lightens to the intentioned lavender. "Now shake hands."

Jace extends his hand towards me. I cross my arms across my chest. He gives me a brotherly, reassuring smile, so I slowly grasp his hand and shake firmly. He'll be dead soon anyway.

* * *

The Peacekeepers escorted me back here, into the Justice Building. The place I despised growing up. Now I'd take it over the Games.

But in the Games, I can fight and be me. Here, it's not me. I'll do just fine anyways. I can survive anything.

Just as I think this, my friends burst in, a Peacekeeper cursing in the background.

"Hey, guys!" I smile a little. If I die, I don't want their last memory of me to be a grouchy one. Like my usual self.

They don't reply – they stare. Then Gorda collapses to her knees and sobs.

Nym stares with her mouth wide-open. She hugs me tight. I return the hug; it might be the last I get.

Then Nym releases me. I had to ask her first. She goes back to staring, with silent tears coming down her cheeks.

I kneel down next to Gorda and wipe away her tears.

"I'll be back, don't lose hope." I give them my cheeky 'we-got-away-with-it' grin. They grin back slightly. It's forced, but it's good enough for now. "I'll be back with you two, it'll be the same. Even though I'll be slightly changed, I'll still be me. Don't fret, my friends."

"Whoop their butts for us, will you?" Nym says quietly.

"The Careers? Definitely, Nym. They have it coming to them anyways." Her grin gets larger, and I wink.

Then the cursing Peacekeeper calls them out, without giving a proper: "Let's go. Now." The people that become Peacekeepers these days. Completely unprofessional.

My mom and dad don't come, but Nym returns with something in her hand.

"It's a locket with our pictures in it. Remember us. We'll always remember you."

I nod, and give her a final hug. No tears come from either of us. That would be unnecessary now; we already had our good cry.

The Peacekeeper pulls her out, again.

And I'm alone, again.

I open my fist gingerly. Inside is the locket. It's gleaming gold, with small designs on the front. Where did Nym get this? She surely couldn't afford it. This is real gold, I think. Where?

Grandpa. Of course. They're neighbours! Grandpa probably gave it to her.

I open the latch, and inside are two pictures: one of Nym and Gorda, on the left side, and one of Grandpa on the right. I let a tear streak down my face. I might never see them again.

I wipe it away, and clasp the locket around my neck.

I might be alone, but I don't feel it anymore.

* * *

The train is loaded with Capitol foods, and many types of servants to wait on our every whim and desire. Going home is not a proper desire; they were kind of surprised when I asked.

My escort and partner are talking, whilst my mentor, Flasive, is being sulky. Just like me. I look up at her, and she smiles a little. But then I look down.

I'm sort of relieved to have her as my mentor. She's pretty darn tough. She won just by walking up to District 2 and pretty much beating out his life. She's my inspiration, why I fight, why I am rebellious. Because she proved that it was possible to get past your appearance and expectations. Exactly what I want to do.

When I look back up, she's right there next to me.

"Hey, kid. Saw you in the reaping, you're tough stuff! I definitely have something to work with. You just might win."

I smile brightly at this. She's impressed.

The escort gets up to come over, readjusting his wig. "It's time to eat now," he says happily, though I know he dislikes me. Every adult seems to.

I stare him down for a minute, and then follow him to the table.

My plate is covered in food, and I gulp it all down. Screw manners, I can be me now.

The escort looks away with disgust. Flasive sits there, smiling. Yep, this is a great day.

But not really. . .

Finally, we finish the meal, and I wash my hands. (Flux, the escort, insisted.) When I get back, everyone's surrounding the television. The reapings! I have to watch them now.

District 1 looks like huge opposition. No surprise, really. They're Careers. But the boy from 1 sticks out; he fights some guy for the honor of volunteering.

District 2's male is frightening, but 2's female looks like I could take her! With my eyes closed. What a year this will be! And this is just the Career pack!

District 3 is nothing, as usual. Bloodbaths, I figure. They are almost always Bloodbaths anyway. Then again, so are District 12's.

District 4 looks like they're going to kill everyone. And I mean everyone. There is yet another fight, so I'm not original, but I fought Peacekeepers; they fought each other. I'm only twelve, so I'll pace myself; I _might_ be able to defeat them.

District 5, on the other hand, is completely normal. The escort is reading out the treaty, and it goes on and on. But then it gets interesting: smoke starts to pour from the stage; the crowd starts to panic and flee. The escort and Jace look away, while Flasive and I stare, eating up the chaos.

The screen changes to a bright red background with black letters stating:

**"Capitol TV**

**Currently Experiencing Technical Difficulties**

**We Apologize for the Inconvenience**"

Flasive and I groan loudly; Jace and Flux look almost happy.

But Jace's face goes into a small frown as he gets up and sits in the corner by a window.

I smirk and sit in the opposite corner, without a window. I don't need to be seen right now. I also don't care.

* * *

**Jace Winters, 16 ~ District 12 Male**

**MagnificKCBEE**

"Jace! Look what I did!" Harmony says as she runs to me. In her hand is the ugliest picture ever made.

"Wow, this is great!" I can't break her heart by telling her the truth. She's only six. Plus if I ever say anything mean to her, she'll throw a fit. And I'll get in trouble. Again.

"I know! I worked so hard on it."

"I can see that. Shouldn't you be getting ready for the reaping? Where's Rea? Isn't she supposed to dress you up?"

Harmony giggles. "She's outside, with her boyfriend!"

"Oh, really, that's interesting," I say, smirking.

I get off the couch and slowly make my way outside. I peek out the door, and see Rea and Novin whispering to each other.

"Well, I should go. My mom will kill me if I don't get ready. I have to get my sister ready too."

"Okay, I'll see you there." He leans in to kiss her. We can't have that, can we? Not with a protective twin brother around.

"Hey, Novin!" I say loudly as I burst through the door. "I didn't know you were here. Why didn't you say hi?"

"Oh, hey, Jace," Novin says, as he awkwardly steps away from my sister.

"Jace, what are you doing?" Rea whispers, glaring at me.

"Well, I just noticed that Harmony wasn't ready yet, and I was wondering what you were doing. But now, I see that you're with a boy! Tsst, tsst, Mom will be disappointed in you." I shake my head.

"Ugh!" She storms back into the house.

"It's so much fun annoying her," I explain to Novin. He smiles awkwardly at me. "Well, I'm going to go inside now. You're welcome to stay here on the porch. Just don't disturb our neighbours – they're crazy."

I look at myself in the mirror as I button up my shirt. My mom stands behind me, trying to gel down my hair. I've got the basic Seam look: black hair, grey eyes, and an olive skintone. I've got some muscle, but I'm not as big as other Seam boys.

"I'm so proud of you, Jace," Mom says suddenly, looking at me in the mirror.

"What?"

"I know that this year has been very hard on you. With your father's illness, me working more often, and you getting a job at the apothecary. And especially taking care of your sisters; I'm so glad I have you and Rea to take care of the kids." She pats my hair down, and turns me around.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you too."

I walk into Dad's room, to say goodbye before we leave for the reaping.

"Hey, we're going to go in a while. Did you take your medicine today?" I ask him.

"Of course I did, boy. Come over here," Dad says, patting a space next to the bed. "Every year, I stood there with the parents, praying that neither you or Rea got reaped. Every year, I got lucky. But this year, I won't be there. So I want to give you this." He stretches over to the nightstand and gets out a simple braided bracelet. He grabs my hand and puts the bracelet in it. "It was your grandfather's. He made it himself. He died during the rebellion, and it was the only thing I had left of him. If you or any of your sisters get reaped, I want you to take it to the arena as your token."

"Don't worry, Dad. We'll all come back to you."

"How about if I get picked! I won't last a day in there!" Asteria says as I walk into her room. It's her first year, and she's a bit nervous.

"Don't worry about it – you only have a few ballots in there," Rea says. "That's only a few, out of hundreds."

"And if you do get reaped, Rea will volunteer for you!" I say, joining in on the conversation. "No one will miss her anyway. Except for Novin."

"Very funny." Rea glares at me, while Asteria gives me a small smile.

"Okay, fine, she'll probably kick all the other tributes' asses and come home. She won't even have to work for it; they'll look at her, and just stab themselves!"

Asteria laughs, while Rea continues to glare.

"Ugh. Come on, Asteria, we don't want to be late."

I make my way to the sixteen-year-old section, and stand with my friends, Larssan and Lucan.

"Hello, everyone, and welcome to the reaping of the Thirty-seventh Hunger Games! Years ago. . ." I tune out the mayor as she recites the speech that I've heard hundreds of times.

"Does she really have to say this speech every year?" Larssan complains. "It just makes the reaping longer, and even more unbearable."

"At least Flux isn't reading it," Lucan replies, eyeing the Capitol escort.

"Actually, I think that would be more entertaining," I say, just as the mayor wraps up her speech. "His accent is hilarious. Especially when he tries to pronounce the tributes' names!"

Flux walks to the stage and plays a video of small recaps of the past Hunger Games. It mainly focuses on Flasive, our only victor. She was awesome in her Games; she practically killed District 2's tribute using her bare hands.

"Now, we can start! May the odds be ever in your favour! For the girls!" Flux shouts to the audience. I really don't get why he and the other escorts are always so happy to pick the tributes; they're basically sending these children to their deaths! "Arianias Houldon."

A scream rips through the crowd. Peacekeepers head towards the twelve-year-old section, where they pull a little girl out. I'm relieved that none of my sisters are picked, but seeing her is horrible. She's tiny. She kicks and protests at the Peacekeeper – I can see that she's a fighter.

"Okay, now on to the boys!" Flux says. It makes me laugh, seeing his slightly purple face contorted with disgust.

I hold my breath in anticipation, as Flux slowly puts his fingers in the boys' bowl. I have forty slips, since I took tesserae out for my whole family for the past five years.

"Jace Winters."

I freeze. I can't move. All I can think about is my family, and my friends; I may never see them again. I may have to kill someone. What am I thinking? I might not even make it past the bloodbath!

Finally, someone pushes me to the front. I slowly make my way to the stage. I glance at Rea, who has tears in her eyes. I give her a small smile, and hold my head high.

"District Twelve, I present to you your tributes of the Thirty-seventh Hunger Games – Arianias Houldon and Jace Winters!" I look at the audience, to see that Rea has found Asteria and they are both crying. "Now shake hands."

I stretch my hand out to the girl, but she crosses her arms across her chest. I give her a reassuring smile, and she grasps my hand and gives it a firm shake.

I pace in the small room the Peacekeepers lead me to after the reaping. I know Dad won't be able to make it. I grip the bracelet.

I look up as the door finally opens. Asteria, Harmony, and Eris storm in, followed by Mom.

Harmony attaches herself to my leg. "Jace, you can't go!"

Eris (my eight-year-old sister) and Asteria also come to hug me. I don't know what to tell them. Whether to give them hope and tell them I'll come back, or to just tell them the truth: that I have no chance of coming back.

"C'mon, don't cry," I say as I comfort my sisters. I force Harmony off my leg.

"J-Jace, what if you don't come back?!"

"Hey, I will try my best to come back for you. Who else will you have to make fun of Rea with?" I pick her up, and she lays her head on my shoulder. I look around, and that's when I notice that Rea is missing.

"Where's Rea?" I ask.

"She wanted to come alone," Mom says.

I lay Harmony down on the sofa, and walk over to my mom and give her a hug.

"Ma, I love you."

"I love you, too. Be careful, okay? Try your best. We'll be rooting for you."

I pull away from her, and face Asteria and Eris. I kneel and give them a tight hug.

"Girls, take care of your sister. And always tell her that her pictures are pretty, no matter how ugly they are," I whisper. They giggle, as they wipe away their tears.

A few minutes later, Peacekeepers burst in. I hug each of them one last time, and watch as they drag them out. I sit on the couch as I wait for my next visitor.

Rea comes into the room.

"Oh, Jace." She runs to me. I hold her tight as she cries into my shoulder. Rea is my best friend, my twin. Ever since we were born, we were never separated. "Out of everyone in the district, why did it have to you?" Rea whispers.

"It's not that surprising. I had forty slips in there."

"Yeah, well, I had just as much, and I didn't get reaped."

"Which is the best thing that happened today."

"I could have volunteered for you. But I'm n-"

"What! Don't say that. Even if you could've have volunteered for me, I wouldn't want you to risk your life."

"Maybe you can win. You're a healer. And you know a lot about plants - like what's edible. And you know exactly what to do to survive."

"But that's the thing, Rea: I'm a healer, not a killer. I can't pick up a knife and stab someone. I save lives, not destroy them."

"Okay, I get it. I don't think I would have been able to do it, either. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. Take care of them, and yourself. And please breakup with Novin - we both know that you like Lucan," I add.

"W-what. . .makes you think that?!"

"I'm your twin, I'm just awesome like that."

"Well, you're wrong. I don't like Lucan."

"Yeah, sure," I say, while giving her a final hug.

Peacekeepers open the door and usher her out. As I watch her leave, memories flood my mind. Our first day of school, when I kicked a guy for teasing Rea; Eris forcing me to play games with her, where she would dress me up as a prince to save her princess doll from the dangerous dragon, who was played by Rea; Asteria visiting me at work, because she wanted to be a healer too; and little Harmony taking her first steps while tightly holding my hand.

The door opens again. This time, Larssan and Lucan walk in. Both of their eyes are red, but they stay strong and don't cry in front of me. I remember when we were eleven - if one us got reaped, we wouldn't cry when saying goodbyes. Because when we go into the Games, we want to remember each other how we always were: laughing and joking around, not being sad and miserable. That's how I want it.

"Hey, man," Larssan says, as he walks up to me. Behind him, Lucan says nothing. He was always the quiet one. "I can't believe you got reaped. One moment we were making fun of Flux, and the next, you were being called on stage."

I don't what to say. They were my best friends ever since we were seven.

"Do you guys remember how we met?" I break the silence. Lucan's lips start twitching upwards.

"How can I forget!" Larssan says, breaking into a smile.

"Cissa Conder. The prettiest girl on the playground. The one I was crushing on since I met her. And apparently you two had a crush on her, too," Lucan says. "Remember how you used to follow her around everywhere?"

Larssan blushes.

I clearly remember that - that's how I found out that he liked her. I hadn't talked to him before, since he was the same kid I kicked on the first day.

"And Cara, Lana, Flanee, basically anyone with boobs. Well, they didn't have boobs...yet," I tease, smirking at him.

"Oh, you're the one to talk. 'Hey, Cissa. I like your hair. Oh my, did you just fall? Here, I'll carry you home'," Larssan imitates, in a high, squeaky voice that sounds nothing like his younger self.

"Let's not forget who won the fight," I say smugly.

"What are you saying?! I won the fight!"

"None of us won the fight, remember? Cissa pulled us apart, and then rejected us," Lucan says.

"Then all three moped together," I say, giving them a wide smile. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. Before that day, I didn't know Lucan or Larssan. We hated each other. But the heartbreak made us friends.

"I heard that she liked Novin," Larssan reveals.

"Really?!" Lucan shouts in surprise.

"It's weird how Novin is stealing all your girls," I say with a smirk.

"What are you talking about?'

"Oh, come on, everyone knows that you and Rea like each other."

"She doesn't like me," Lucan whispers. That's interesting - so he does like her.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. And just so you know, I approve."

Lucan looks at me, and for the first time since they came in, tears form in his eyes. But they don't fall. He gives me a tight hug. "I'll miss you - do your best to come back, okay?" he whispers in my ear.

He pulls away from me, and lets Larssan do the same.

"I know you've heard this a hundred times today, but I'll miss you, buddy."

"You guys a-" Before I get to finish my sentence, Peacekeepers open the door. Lucan and Larssan smile at me for the last time, and walk out.

* * *

"I think this purple skin tone clashes with my hair," Flux says, as he touches his bright orange hair.

We are on the train, on the way to the Capitol. It's almost as big as my house.

"Um...I'm sure everyone loved it," I answer. In total honesty, it looks awful. But I have to be nice to him. He is the escort, and he can get me sponsors.

"Yes, I bet they did. Everyone's eyes were on me today!" Flux says.

Yes, they were, but not for the reasons you think.

"It's time to eat now," Flux says happily.

I turn around in my chair to face my plate. For the first time in my life, I have a table filled with food. More food than I've ever seen. And yet, I don't feel hungry. I look across to Arianias stuffing her face. It gets me to smile, and pile food on to my plate as well.

After we finish our meal, we sit on the couch to watch recaps of the reapings. I really don't want to watch this, but Flasive insists; she says that we should get to know our opponents.

"Do you ever regret it?" I ask suddenly. The recaps haven't started yet, and Arianias isn't back. Flux forced her to wash her hands.

"Regret what?" Flasive replies, even though she knows what I'm talking about.

"You know...killing that boy from District Two?"

"Sometimes. Like when I watched the recap of my Games. Or when I went to his district on the Victory Tour. In my nightmares. But I don't let it get to me - because I did what I had to because I had to survive. I had a family to get back to. It's the Hunger Games. You have no choice."

Before I can reply, Arianias enters the room, and the recaps have started.

District 1, 2, and 4 are the usual. They are the Careers, after all. It makes me wonder - which one of them will kill me?

As the District 5 reapings start, all I can think about is if I'll have to kill someone. I don't know if I can live with that kind of guilt.

Suddenly, smoke comes out of District 5's stage. I turn away from the screen as a memory flashes through my brain. I was only ten when it happened. My dad was working in the mines, and I was going to visit him during his break. I was waiting outside, underneath a tree across from the mines. Suddenly, smoke poured. My dad lost one of his legs, and became very ill because of the fumes he breathed in. That was the day I had to grow up too quickly.

I get up from the couch, and go to the window. As I look at the scenery, I remember how I felt that day: hopeless and lost. Suddenly, I had to go out and find a job. I was lucky that the owner of the apothecary was willing to give a job to a ten-year-old boy. During that time, I just reminded myself to think about my sisters.

And that's what I have to do now. My family is at home right now, praying that I can come back to them. I can't let them down. I can't give up already. I have to try. I have to win the Hunger Games - if not for me, then at least for my family.


	13. The Chariot Ride

**Always' A/N:** Hi, everyone.

All twenty-four authors thank you for reading this far, and hope you continue reading.

We now bring you...the Chariot Rides!

* * *

**Geeky's A/N****: **All right, I apologize if I offend some people in this chapter. I'm just trying to stay in-character.

**Agustis Hurlen****, 15 ~ District 3 Male**

**geekysmartnerd**

"No, no, no, this won't do!" The peacock shakes his head, his exotic wig shifting from side to side. "We'll have to redo it again!" the peacock squawks. "And I just finished my nails too!"

I roll my eyes. Typical Capitol citizen, wrapped up in their own shallow world.

I prepare a sarcastic retort, when Bolt Sullivan's words of wisdom come to me: "_Let your stylist and your prep team do what they have to do, and don't complain, ya' hear?_" Sure, Bolt, let them turn me into a freak. Of course I'm not going to complain.

"Of course, Julian, right away!" The eager puppy scampers away to get the tools.

The way the puppy eagerly fulfills the peacock Julian's wishes makes it seem like the peacock is the stylist, not a prep. But what's more creepy is that she seems so eager to prepare me for slaughter.

The pig looks up from her third slice of cake and waddles over to examine me with beady eyes. Her obese body nearly covers all of my line of vision. To say I'm uncomfortable is an understatement.

"I don't think he needs to be redone, Priscilla," the pig finally says. And the puppy scampers back, and I try not to smirk when I see the peacock get red in the face with rage; he may try to act like the boss, but the pig holds seniority that no one messes with.

"Why not, Olympia?" the peacock demands.

"There isn't much to be prepped," the pig, Olympia, replies.

I mentally wince. The pig implies that I'm so small, there isn't much for them to do.

The peacock sighs dramatically. "Of course, the Head Stylist just _has_ to assign me to District 3 when I'm more than qualified to prep District 1! It's not fair!"

"Life's never fair," the pig says, so softly only I hear. "Priscilla," she calls in a louder voice, and the puppy seems to perk up her ears, "get Julian out of here - we're done here."

The puppy nods enthusiastically, and tries to calm the peacock from his temper tantrum and lead him out of the room.

Olympia the pig tosses me a robe, which I gratefully put on. I reach for Merc's Rubik's Cube and start solving it. She doesn't seem to care.

"Your mentors might not have told you yet, but during the chariot ride, you should try to charm the crowd by waving and smiling at them. Doesn't matter how ridiculous you look, just try."

I nod, listening and solving at the same time. I might not like the Capitol, but I'm getting advice from a Capitol citizen - it ought to be good.

"After the chariots," she continues, "you have three days to learn all you can about surviving the Games. There's the survival stations, where you learn about plants, camouflage, fire-building, and so on and so forth. There's also weaponry stations, where you learn how to handle knives, swords, hand-to-hand, whatever. My suggestion is to learn about surviving first, and then weapons; Careers like to go straight to the weaponry stations, they'll eat you alive if you try to cozy up with them."

I nod again. How she knows all this, I don't know, but I'm going to make the best out of it.

"Keep a low profile and observe all of the tributes - learn what they know, and watch what they can do. The training days are a great place to form alliances. I suggest you ally with your district partner, so your district has more of a chance to get a victor."

I snort. "I'd sooner ally with a Career than with _her_."

Olympia shrugs. "That's fine; this year's tributes look capable of doing something." She heads to the door. "That's all I'm going to tell you."

"Wait"—she stops—"how do you know all this?" I ask.

"I was a Gamemaker. Turns out it wasn't for me, so I switched to prepping," she replies, and heads out.

Well, that makes sense. Olympia is probably telling me this so she can move up the ranks and prep a better district if I win. I smirk. What Olympia just did is like an alliance. People might seem to be helping others, but are really doing so for their own best interest.

Speaking of alliances, who should I ally with? I'll observe everyone on Training Day One as I absorb all the info at the survival stations. If I have time, I'll do my recruiting then. If not, Day Two.

My photographic memory allows me to remember what each tribute was like during the reapings, as I flip through their faces.

Careers are out of the question. They wouldn't accept a guy like me.

I'm not going to team up with Erin, no matter what.

District 5. Lead Morrison and Nova Aztek are possibilities. Lead is probably the guy who caused the smoke during the District 5 reaping; he must have some skill in explosives. Combine that with my expertise in machinery and all things mathematical and scientific, and we could make a formidable team. Nova looks tough, I might ally with her.

District 6. There's no way I'm going to ally myself with that blind girl, Cecelia Trimble. She'll surely die in the Bloodbath! And anyways, what kind of help will she be to me in the Games? None, that's what. The other tribute, Christopher Silver, might be of some use, although I don't know what he can do; I'll count him as a possibility.

District 7. Keelyn Aponte and Jake Hall both look fit and able to handle themselves. They might know how to handle an axe.

District 8. The female tribute, Twilla Applestone, is a twelve-year old. There's no way someone her age would make it that far in the Games. Heck, she's even tinier than me! I'm small for my age! Weave Tarroten…I'll have to check out what he can do during the training days.

District 9. I can't immediately judge, so I'll keep an eye on them during chariots and training.

District 10. Adeline Matthews looks like a typical District 10 tribute: strong from being on a ranch her whole life, but not Career-strong. She probably can handle a lasso or something. And then there's Rameses Johnson. He looks strong despite his lanky frame, and there's the unmistakable gleam of intelligence in his eye. Not to say all the other tributes are stupid - Rameses just seems to be as intelligent as, well, me. I don't know whether I want that guy next to me, or as far away as possible.

District 11. Forget Nabby Ruthaw, he looks like a complete jokester the way he acted in the reaping. His attitude might get me killed if I team up with him. He's so unlike his serious district partner, Genesis Thyme; I'll see what she can do during training.

District 12. Heh. Forget it. District 12 almost never wins, and has the least advantages to offer. Still, Arianias Houldon put up a good fight when those Peacekeepers tried to drag her onstage. But honestly, a twelve-year old wouldn't make it that far in the Games. Still, I wonder where she learned how to fight. Does Jace Winters know how, too?

My musings are interrupted when someone, probably a Capitolite, barges in my room.

"You couldn't have knocked?" I ask boredly, my eyes still on the Rubik's Cube I'm solving.

Unfazed, that person marches right in front of me.

"I am your stylist, Maxima," the person says.

Stylist? Oh, joy. I look up from the Rubik's Cube. "I am the tribute you're assigned to," I reply.

Maxima is in her late forties or so. Her stern face and ramrod-straight back gives me the impression that she must've been a Peacekeeper once. She also tries to fit in with the Capitol population, but bright clothes and ridiculous wigs just don't suit her - a fact she's probably aware of. We have an intense staring contest which neither of us wants to lose. But then Maxima cheats and throws something at my face, causing me to bat the thing away and break eye contact.

"That's your costume," she says monotonously. She takes it, and reveals to me how the costume looks like.

It looks...well...interesting...

I crack a small smile. "I like it."

* * *

**Christopher Silver****, 16 ~ District 6 Male**

**Pax Cronin**

I arrived last night in the gleaming lights of the Capitol. Immediately, the stylist and her prep team washed the dirt on my body, all of the crevices and corners I wasn't even sure I had.

Gallons and gallons of soap, shampoo, and water later, they dress me in a flowing silver-blue shirt with matching pants, which resembles the trains we make. I have a silver crown with spinning gears instead of jewels. Upon further examination, the crown jewel is a compass, representing District 6's industry: Transportation.

After I am prepped, Zeus leads me and Cecelia through long hallways, decorated with pictures of the victors and Games before this one. Behind every smile is a twisty story of death and deception. Every victor had to kill or be killed. They witnessed death on a huge scale. In District 6, death is not a huge factor of our lives. Maybe in the Gap, which is the poorest part of the district. But where I live, everyone just seems sad.

I wonder where Cecelia is from, what her story is. Whatever it is, it must be troubled. Why else would she punch Zeus in the gut?

I shake her from my mind.

"Follow the halls, it'll lead you to the chariots. I have to talk to the mentors. . .make sure they haven't painted themselves." Zeus sighs as he speaks. Clearly, he is not happy being with us.

Why _would _he? We're District 6 - even though our industry is a damn right important one, we're overlooked. Unlike the gorgeous souls of Districts 1, 2, and 4; the Capitol treats them like babies. There isn't a doubt in my mind that he wants one of those districts. Then he could have prepared tributes, unlike Cecelia and me.

I see the tributes from District 12 walking down the slim hallway. One of us will have to move to the side. But neither of us will. It would be an impression that we couldn't erase; if Cecelia and I moved, they would take us as weak, easy to pluck off. They would add our district to the "kill" list, even though they are poor beyond belief. I don't want to know what they can do.

"We should move," I say under my breath as they come ever closer. They don't seem to be paying attention to us.

Before I know it, I have a pain in my head, and Cecelia's on the floor next to me. Oh no, we ran into District 12! I'm such an idiot! Why hadn't I moved?! Now they're going to take this as a sign of weakness!

I immediately stand back up, but Cecelia is still sprawled on the floor.

"Hey, Bumper Car! Looks like the little girl needs help up!" snarls the District 12 girl. The tributes are in awful miner costumes. You would think with coal as their industry, they would have something good! Like a black dress, or something. "Open your eyes, Bumper Car! She's blind!"

Cecelia can't be blind! What is she thinking?

Then I think back to the train. How she just sat there, not really marveling.

I'm such a fool! How can you not notice that someone's blind?!

Disappointed, I turn to Cecelia. "You're right. Cece, how could you not tell me?"

She doesn't answer. Great, just what I need - another dilemma from my home team. It seems like my chances for surviving are dwindling faster than sand in an hourglass.

I help Cece up, and continue to where we will launch on our chariots.

I pause after the elevator lets us off, standing in front of the heavy sliding doors.

Then it hits me: I'm in the Hunger Games.

My heart races as I remember District 6's troubled history with tributes. Last year we had the male who walked straight into his own snare. Everyone saw it coming. There was a period of time when people debated if it was a suicide, but I don't think it was. Just another dumb tribute.

Suicide would be such a harsh way of going in these Games. It's giving up complete hope. Sure, it's been done. Some do it to help others, give them one less person to kill. But it doesn't change the fact that you are taking your own life.

I feel a hard hand grasp my shoulder. When I turn around, I am shocked to see - one of the Careers, I believe. He stands eye-level to me. He's smaller weight-wise, but still intimidating. The girl from his district is standing close by. He speaks up. "I know you're admiring the decor, and pardon me for interrupting, but get out of the way."

Shocked and scared, I quickly leap off of the step, still gripping Cece's arm. I waste no time getting to the chariot. The Careers will kill me without even thinking. Every Career would.

I secretly wish I _was_ a Career. Volunteering for the Games? Knowing that you _have_ a chance? Sounds amazing. But they're ignorant to other tributes, even to their partners. They put themselves first - a great trait in the Games, but not in life.

My heart is pounding. I will have to help Cecelia up on the chariot, won't I? Not that I have a problem with that, I just don't want people to start noticing that she's blind - that'll make me an easy target.

If the Capitol audience _knows_ that she's blind, and sees me flee the Cornucopia, and she gets murdered, will they blame me? If the odds are in my favor and I win, will I be hated for thinking of myself? Like a Career.

I am hesitant, but I try to make it look like I'm just helping a girl onto a chariot. I make sure my cape doesn't get caught on the wheel, which would be terrifying.

There is an announcement telling the tributes to get on the chariots. The big doors open, and the first chariot leaves. My heart pounds as we inch closer and closer to meeting the people that will decide our fate.

* * *

**Arianias Houldon****, 12 ~ District 12 Female**

**newbie11**

My stylist, Truner, is a weirdo. I'm not sure how he got to be a stylist! I have better fashion sense than him, and I don't even care! I mean – his hair is dyed white and molded into horns. He has a huge brass ring through his nose. And he has hair all over! I'm tempted to call him 'the bull'...

I don't trust this man with making me look appealing! This is a part of the Games that I don't care about, but a gift could mean the difference between life and death. Even if it is from such morons. So I'll play this stupid game, as long as it means that I can return home.

He wants to dress me as a miner. I feel like saying "_**No**_" in the most powerful and angry way possible. But that means the other option: stark naked and covered in 'coal dust'. No thank you. Truner hands me a dress bag; my costume's inside. I slowly open it, prepared for disappointment. And, I am. Disappointed. It's an ugly grey, with accents of black and red. He pulls an orange helmet out – it has a light on it. Great. The Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games' biggest dorks. This should be enjoyable...

I give him a fake smile. I can complain to myself later.

"Wow, this is great," I say, lacing in the sugary sweetness that I used on my parents before.

"Well, slip into it!" Truner says, over-excited.

I roll my eyes, but get into it anyway. It's a bit too big, a bit wide and long for me. But I really don't want the other option.

"It's perfect!" he yells.

No, it's not. I want to tell him that, but I won't. He could make me look far worse. Like how he looks. It's frightful.

"Before the headpiece, we simply must do your hair. Is it always this messy?" I don't answer. I just give him a grumpy expression. He nods. Laughing, he says, "Yes, it is."

I'm terribly tempted to hit him right now. But I stand here. Maybe I'll look so bad that the president will execute him. One can only hope…

He starts to play with my hair. He uses an excessive amount of gel; I can feel it, it's so cold and slimy. He pulls my hair up, and then pushes it down and out. I have no idea what style he's trying to come up with, but I have a feeling that I'll dislike it.

"We're finished!" He leads me to the mirror. But then he shoves the helmet on hard, and my reflex makes me elbow him in the gut. Oops…

"Are you okay, Truner?" I ask. I really don't care.

"Oh, I'm fine, darling!" Would it kill him to stop calling me 'darling'? Seriously. I am no darling, or sweetie, or cutie-pie. "Let's bring you out! It's almost time to begin!"

He waltzes me around. Eventually, Jace joins us. Definitely. We are the dorks of District 12. He gives me a reassuring smile, and taps his helmet.

"Solid," he says. I nod.

"I think my hair is, too," I joke. It feels like it is.

Maybe Jace won't be too hard to live with after all. Besides, he'll have to die eventually.

They race us through the corridors, left, left, left, right, right, left… We're getting nowhere.

"We're lost, aren't we?!" I stop abruptly. I'm confused and angry now.

Suddenly, people crash into me. I'm sprawled on the floor, along with the District 6 tributes.

I stare at them. The first thought that comes to mind: how come they get to look so much better than us? It'd only be fair if everyone looked like complete dorks.

The second thought: the girl's blind. And she's trying to hide it.

I call out to them, only a small snarl along with it: "Hey, Bumper Car! Looks like the little girl needs help up!" Bumper Car (as I have now nicknamed him) looks surprised, and acts like I'm not there. He must think that I'm lying. "Open your eyes, Bumper Car, she's blind."

He looks even more stunned. I stop, and stare. Challenging him to defy me. Instead, he looks at the other one for a long minute. All he does is nod and mumble, "You're right. Cece, why didn't you tell me?"

I realize that I'm done here, and catch up to Jace, Truner, and the rest of the District 12 team.

I should be thinking of strategy, plotting how to get out of this. But no, I'm thinking of District 6.

How come that girl didn't want her partner to know? Letting people think you're weak can help. I mean, your allies would take care of you better, and others wouldn't come after you too quickly.

But then you're seen as weak. Sure, everyone has a weakness – but when it shows, you're seen as the weakest. I used to be seen as weak, but then I was flogged for the first time, and I didn't cry, yell, or scream. I'm seen as weird now – not much better, I guess.

Then there's Bumper Car. How didn't he see it before? I mean – the girl probably bumps into everything! She must lie very convincingly, or Bumper Car is really unobservant. You can see her eyes; blindness is visible. Many different types of visible. An old friend of mine was blind. Heltal's eyes looked crossed; some called her cross-eyed, but she'd whack them with her cane and they'd go running. Then she died from a mysterious sickness.

The District 6 girl's eyes looked seriously wrong, so it might have something to do with albinism. At least, I think so - Heltal's mother tried to explain all the kinds to me. Heltal was only completely blind in one eye from early damage to it, but she had a lot of trouble with the other eye, as well.

"Hey, Arianias, get into the chariot!" Flux yells, apparently annoyed that I stopped paying attention. Of course, I barely even knew that we've gotten to the chariots.

I walk over, and Jace offers me his hand to pull me up. I glare at it, and get up by myself.

* * *

**Jace Winters****, 16 ~ District 12 Male**

**MagnificKCBee**

District 12 isn't known for being the most glamorous - that title goes to District 1.

We work in mines, digging coal; let's just say it's not the cleanest job.

We've also only had one victor in thirty-six years of Hunger Games.

And lastly - our chariot ride costumes are never flattering: they alternate between miner outfits and being stark naked while covered in 'coal dust'. This year, it was miner outfits. Oh, how I love the Capitol.

I take a look around to see if anyone else is as bad as District 12. District 1 is…sparkly. Harmony and Eris always like District 1's costumes because they look like princes and princesses. They won't be disappointed - the tributes have crowns on top of their heads. District 2 is wearing knight armour. I've stepped into a fairytale. Not fair, why can't District 12 specialize in someth-

Wait, is that a fish? Oh, God, and I thought mine was bad. Laughter spills from in-between my hands.

The fish, a marlin, whips around and glares at me. He starts to make his way over. Oh no, now I'm in trouble.

"Hey, boy, are you laughing at my costume?"

"Wait, no! Of course not. I think you make it work." Up close, it's even more ridiculous, which makes me laugh harder.

"Too bad, I think it's pretty ridiculous. They could have made me a flounder, though. I guess the Capitol pigs gotta' have their fun. What's your name?"

"Jace Winters, District Twelve. As you can see by my equally ridiculous miner's outfit. At least yours will get a laugh," I say. "And maybe if you don't like your district partner, you can poke her in the eye."

"Oh, well, she's all right. I think I might poke the escort or one of my mentors, though." A more sadistic grin passes over his face. "If I were you, I'd train hard and pray not to meet me in the arena." He meanders off.

"But I thought we were getting along!"

"Maybe," he says, as he waves me off. "You're gonna' have to be stronger than that to be my friend." He leers like a psycho killer. "You're gonna' have to be a threat."

"Oh, don't worry, I won't be a threat. You don't have to waste your time with me. I'll probably trip over a rock and die anyway. Why waste your time?" I say desperately.

"Ooooh, now you're sounding like fun."

"No, I'm no fun. I'm, like, really boring. Even my sisters fall asleep on me!"

"Good, then you won't be very good at running, and here I thought I would only get two Bloodbaths." And then he rounds the corner and disappears.

"Jace! Get on the chariot!" Flux suddenly yells. I see that District 1 has already gone out.

I climb on the chariot, and realize that Arianias is missing. Flux finds her and yells at her to get on. Since she's a bit short, I lend a hand to help her up; she glares at it and gets in by herself.

Great, now Fish Boy _and_ Arianias want to kill me.

"Next time, just keep to yourself, Jace," I whisper.

"Sorry," Arianias mutters, "I just like to be strong on my own."

"It's okay to ask for help, you know."

"Help means I'm weak. Weakness is unacceptable; this is the Hunger Games, after all."

"Asking for help doesn't mean you're weak. It means that you have enough courage to admit that you need help," I say, quoting Lucan. He was always the philosophical one.

"It doesn't feel like that to me. It feels like you're too weak to do things on your own."

"No one can do everything on their own. Just think of your friends or something, think of all the things you've done together. Will you ever change that?"

"No, but that's different."

"I guess. So, are you nervous?"

District 9 has gone. They're wearing gold; every time they move, it ripples, like a field of grain.

"Not really."

"I remember I barfed after presenting my drawing to my kindergarten class."

Arianias chuckles lightly. "I've always been in front of crowds. Not for any reasons you need to know - yet."

"Hm, mysterious," I say.

Next thing I know, our chariot is being pulled into the crowd. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust to light, but once they do, I see millions of people watching us. Some are cheering, still hyped about the Hunger Games starting. I try to swallow my fear, and smile and wave at everyone nearby. I even see a group of girls squeal when I smile at them. Yes, that's right - I've got moves.

"Come on, SMILE!" I yell at Arianias.

"Fine," Arianias sighs, as she puts on a thin, intimidating grin.

"Whoa, and I thought my sister's grins were scary. But the crowd seems to love you." The crowd is still cheering. Not as loud as the other times, but still loud enough for District 12.

"Gee, thanks." Her grin stays the same. "I love to be scary."

"How about you save it for the arena?" I say, as we reach the end of the street.

"Okay, whatever." Arianias forces her smile to become lighter and happier.

After the president's speech, the chariots roll to the Training Center. I sigh in relief, glad that it's over.

"You guys did great!" Flux says. "Looked great in your costumes."

This makes it official - Flux is crazy.


	14. Night after the Chariot Ride

**Cookies' A/N:** Last time, I didn't make one, so - yeah.

Hope you all like Blye, and you get how awesome she is. Very spoiled, but she will change.

And thanks to those who helped me with both chapters.

**Blye Ivory, 15 ~ District 1 Female**

**I've got cookies**

It was okay.

The chariot ride, it was okay.

I bet that everyone else was so amazed by this thing, but I wasn't.

I should be, but I'm not.

Why?

Because my dad usually shows me the jewelry he's about to send to the Capitol. He's kind of a secret superhero to them; they can't imagine their lives without diamonds and stuff, but they don't know where it comes from. I guess. I doubt that they even care.

But I shouldn't worry about that right now. I should think about how beautiful I was today. My costume was a gold crown with bright jewels, a white-and-gold tunic with diamonds, and a long, jeweled golden staff.

Meanwhile, Gleam had something similar: a larger gold crown, a white-and-gold tunic with diamonds on the collar, seams, and cuffs, and a cape that gave off a soft white glow in the evening.

We looked so awesome – like they wanted to show us as royal as possible! Not like a queen and king, 'cause that would be crossing the line, but a princess and prince would do the trick. And that obviously means that they need us, and they think about our district like the one that has the most power. But only _think_, 'cause we have _no_ power. We are as powerful as District 12.

Moving on. District 2 were knights. And for the first time, I saw them life-size. They're huge. They could squish me in a second, the boy and girl both. I hope that they're unskilled.

Huh. Hope.

It's the only thing stronger than fear.

Gah, I am so easily distractible. I can distract myself. Okay, District 3 looked like aviators; pretty old-fashioned, but still good enough. The rest of them had boring or lame costumes: some kind of dresses. . .trees. . .miner jumpsuits. . .

* * *

In the Training Center, all districts have their own floor. And because we're District 1, we get the first floor. Right now, I'm in my room, trying to have a little nap.

But my nap shall be disturbed, because there is someone at the door.

And it is. . .

. . .my stylist – Wertyos. Strange name. Normal for Capitol folk? Maybe.

My name is pretty weird in District 1: 'Blye'. While everyone else is something that glows or shines. Well, 'Althea' – my friend – is pretty unusual too; I would imagine that kind of name in District 2, maybe.

"Hey, never heard of knocking?" I ask him in a teasing tone. "It's in right now."

See, about my stylist. . .he's cool and all, but he's all Capitol.

"It's, like, two weeks ago. Maybe it's in now at your district," he teases back. "C'mon – you don't want to miss dinner."

"You bet I don't."

We are the last ones there. Gleam is sitting next to me. Our stylists next to him. Glitz, Wonder, Mylar, Silka, and Faustina across the table.

The room is fascinating. I do come from District 1, from a jeweler's family, but this just is something new. I'm not talking about the luxury stuff here; I'm talking about design. It's fresh because no one uses it at home, but it's not completely new: it has a hint of an old style they told us about in school. The style was called 'rococo'; it's very old, and comes from a place called Europe. I think. I wasn't paying attention that day, probably. Rococo rooms were designed as total works of art, with elegant and ornate furniture, small sculptures, ornamental mirrors, tapestries complimenting architecture, reliefs, and wall paintings. And I see pretty much all of that here. Maybe not so much paintings, but otherwise, yeah.

"What took you so long, Your Highness?" Wonder asks me with a grin.

"It takes time to take off that makeup. I thought you knew that I don't wear so much glitter on my skin on an everyday basis," I reply with a smile.

"Ah, should've known it was the glitter. Should've known."

The others smile a bit. Except Faustina and the stylists – they look kind of confused. Well, I guess District 1 humor will never seem funny to the Capitol.

We continue eating in silence. Potatoes with meat and salad; pretty easy, but tasty - and here comes the dessert: cheesecake. Looks so good. But it seems that my and Gleam's desserts are coming late.

They're all almost halfway done when Gleam asks, "Um. . .forgetting something?"

"No, why?" Glitz seems surprised.

"Us." I state the obvious. "Where are our desserts?"

Glitz just looks at Wonder questioningly with wide eyes.

"What?" Wonder asks her. "Ohhh, I was supposed to tell them. Okay. We asked them not to give you dessert. For your own good, you know." He says that as if it's nothing special.

I just sit there. We both do – me and Gleam.

"What?" I ask, not understanding the reason. "What could possibly happen in less than a week?"

Mylar lifts an eyebrow. "We want you in better shape than ever," he says.

"How can you know what shape we've been in before?" I mumble quietly.

"Actually, we've. . ." Wonder starts, but I don't let him finish. Gleam face-palms. I guess Wonder didn't get that neither Gleam nor I want to hear his answer.

"It was a rhetorical question!" I half-yell.

Maybe we're making too much drama out of our non-existing desserts, but being here is like a once-in-a-lifetime chance. When we can eat the fancy Capitol foods. But they're just like – '_We want to keep you in shape, for your own good._'

"Let's...go," I tell Gleam. He nods.

We go to the main room, where the TV and sofa are. We sit, but this time next to each other. The silence grows by the second. So this is kind of awkward.

"So, wanna' talk about something?" Gleam asks first.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" I answer in a bit of a bored tone.

"Have you ever thought about why they picked you? At the pre-reaping?" His tone is unsure. He's kind of uncomfortable asking me this.

"What? I don't get it. . .what kind of question is that?"

"Pretty simple one. Why do you think you're here?" he asks, more serious than ever.

"Let's talk about something else." I don't want his questions to rub off on me.

"I bet you wanna' know even more than I do." Okay, maybe he's right about that one.

"Well, I guess it's because I was the best at everything, you know."

"_Why_ do you think you were the best?"

"I have no idea, okay?" I almost scream at him.

I mean – he's doubting me! He thinks that I'm a Just-Pick-One-Girl-and-Let's-Go-Home tribute. But I'm not. I truly am better than the other girls at the academy. At least - I'm better than the twenty-six girls who went to the pre-reaping.

"Okay, sorry. . . . . .Why not ask Glitz or Wonder? They might know." He gestures to them as they come from the dining room.

"Ask us what?" Glitz says.

"Why you all picked me, instead of some big eighteen-year-old?" I'm not sure why I'm so disappointed.

"Oh. Yeah. _They_ might know," Mylar says in a joking sarcastic tone, as he passes us. He sits on the other sofa and turns on the TV.

"In Practice Bloodbaths," Glitz says, "it's not just about who gets what weapon. It's also about who gets to the Cornucopia first."

We sometimes have Bloodbath simulations at the academy. No one dies there, of course. We just wait for the sixty seconds to pass, and then we run to the Cornucopia, grab weapons, 'kill' virtual tributes, and try not to _be_ 'killed'.

Gleam and I try to figure out what that means.

"Don't you think it's pretty obvious?" I tell him, smiling. "They wanted to say. . .that I'm fast."

"You think?" He's doubting me again. Does he _really_ want to get on my nerves?

"No, I'm just saying it out of randomness."

"Oh, well. . .then we need to test it. I challenge you to a race." He has a competitive smile. He likes challenges just like I do. Cool.

We go to the end of the living room, so I can explain the rules. "We have to go through the living room to the dining room, where we run one lap around the table. Then to our rooms, tap on the door, and run back here."

"On the way back, we'll run through the dining room without a lap around the table, and - on both ways - over the sofa," he completes my rules.

"Sounds good to me," I say. We take our starting positions. "Get ready, set-" I pause, and look at Wonder, so he'll get that he has to continue.

"Go!" Wonder yells.

The first run to the sofa is kind of short, since no one is in the lead. But after Gleam jumps off the sofa, he's quite ahead of me, just because his jump is enormous.

For a few seconds – then I get to him.

Now we're about to enter the dining room. The lap around the table sure is a tight race, but I'm not about to give up.

Now our rooms. Good thing the run is a straight line; I can easily lose him. And so I have; he's a few feet behind me. I tap on my door, and am on my way back when I hear Gleam tap.

I don't know if this is his strategy all along, but he's catching me slowly. We're about to enter the dining room when he touches my shoulder, and that means that he's right behind me and soon to be next to me. I put on my full speed – yeah, that's right, Gleam; you won't be seeing my face until the end of the race.

I'm already in the living room, about to jump over the sofa. Run, run, run, and jump-!

But Faustina stands right in front of me. She's about to say something when I interrupt her – "Yeah, yeah, not now" – and run around her without stopping. I jump and tap the wall.

Aaaaand. . .**_yes_**_!_ I win!

"In your face, Gleam! I actually _am_ fast!" I'm filled with happiness right now.

"Yeah, congrats. Now I know the reason why you're here - heyyy. . ."

He isn't able to finish, because Faustina takes us by our sleeves. "When I'm about to tell you two something about your behavior, you listen."

We hang our heads, so she'll get that we understand and respect her. I mean, no one wants to listen to her stories about disrespectful people, and now less than ever.

"Okay, I'm kind of tired. I'll go to bed, I think." I wave to the others.

I hear a few 'goodnight's once I'm out of the room.

I head straight to my bed. I want to be in a good mood tomorrow; it will be the first day of training. I want to dream cute and cuddly dreams that won't wake me up in the middle of the night. I want to dream.

I touch the ring on my finger – a token from home. It helps me a bit. It helps me fall asleep. It helps me to dream. . .cute and cuddly. . .dreams.

* * *

**Weave Tarroten, 15 ~ District 8 Male**

**Wolffe41**

I've always thought being taken away to the Capitol and forced to train and get to know the tributes that are more likely than not going to be dead in a few weeks, the worst part of the Games.

Of course, I entirely forgot about the Tribute Parade until Woof reminded me this morning.

The Tribute Parade. Perfect time for the _lovely_ Capitol citizens to take their pick on who to sponsor, and bet on the first deaths and training scores. Usually, the escorts start going around at the parade to attract those people to get sponsors, but for some reason, I don't think that that will be necessary for Ferronia.

Because my imbecile of a stylist - a crazy purple skeleton-woman called Brietta - decided it would be a _'fantastic, new idea'_ to dress me up in horrific metal armour that is supposed to resemble a thimble. It sticks out in odd angles, and I can still feel it digging into my legs as our chariot is pulled into the Training Centre, away from the avenue and the noise and the incredible lights.

I suppose I have it better than Twilly, though. She's in some sort of dress made of the same metal – basically, a huge thimble with arm and head holes. She stands stiffly and can barely move; I had to lift her into the chariot because Ferronia vanished into the crowd as soon as we arrived.

I can see Ferronia now, with our stylists and prep team in a little bay with an '8' hanging from above.

The horses automatically slow down and halt when we reach them, and the nine women (Woof and I are the only males this year, hurray) start to screech and reach up to drag us down - quite literally.

I manage to get out first, and Brietta pulls me into a hug. Her obviously fake bosoms threaten to suffocate me, and I push her away in disgust to help Twilly down. She doesn't weigh a thing, as I found out when I helped her off of the train this morning, but I struggle slightly as I lower her now. The dress is ridiculously big, and I notice that her beaky stylist has not bothered to put any padding around the jagged edges, and her skin is rubbed raw.

"You two look _wonderful!_" one of my team squeaks. I haven't bothered learning their names – they're from the Capitol. All the men end in –ius, and the women in –ia.

I shoot a look that says '_S__eriously?_' at Twilly, and she giggles.

"Where do we go now?" I ask Ferronia, ignoring the chirping women and glancing at my escort. She is looking at the tributes from 1, in their white tunics and glittering jewels.

She jumps, before turning her attention back to us and grabbing my arm.

"To the floors. You know, as District Eight, you get one of the best ones – not too high, not too low, overlooking the city _beautifully!_ You really are lucky," is her only reply. She doesn't let go of my arm.

One of the prep team ruffles my hair and slaps my cheek. I think she was trying to be affectionate, but it's hard to tell with those talons on her hands. "You looked so _FINE__!_ Why can't everyone look this good? You be the best out tonight, hear me?" she squeals.

"I looked like a mutilated piece of metal. Somehow, I don't think that counts as _f__ine_," I snort back at her.

Brietta looks a bit confused, and strokes my chest plate thing. "But this - this is magnificent! It represents your district, and it defines your face so well. And it's stunning!"

All of the other tributes are heading off, and Ferronia seems to have finally realised, as she cuts me off before I can reply, which is a shame. I have a nice retort ready for the bird. She grabs Twilly and pulls us along, the team following, still squealing and squeaking quite happily. And she explains tonight to us.

I crinkle my nose in disgust and shake my head at Twilly, and she rolls her eyes back. The only few words that I manage to hear from the escort are 'food', 'wash down' and 'recap'. I don't care about the others, but the mention of food gets my stomach churning.

Ferronia said earlier that the food here is much better than on the train, and to be perfectly honest, I can't see how that works, but am quite happy to test the theory. The prep teams 'forgot' to give me any lunch before all of _this_, and I couldn't manage much this morning on the train.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Twilly perk up as well, and our pace gets a little bit quicker as we pass seven other parking bays and reach a room full of glass lifts.

"Do you want one on your own, or with the others?" Ferronia asks us. There is one empty one left, and Twilly is eyeing it.

"Alone," we both say. Well, stutter.

She looks a little worried and leads us, accompanied by the flock of babbling women, over to the lift.

"Your district represents which floor you have. For example, District One have Floor One, District Two have Floor Two..."

I take this as a cue to press a round shining button with a number '8' on it. Ferronia looks rather pleased that I figured out so quickly. If she usually has to deal with things like that, it's no surprise really that we have only two victors.

The lift begins to move, and my still-churning stomach drops to the bottom of my toes as we rise, faster and faster. The Lift Room vanishes, and I just catch sight of the burly District 5 boy watching us. He is reduced to a dot the size of an ant in a matter of seconds, so I don't mull over it for too long.

Ferronia turns to me expectantly. "Why did you want to go alone? Isn't it better to try to make some friends that could later be allies?"

Ah. Twilly looks at me, and from the way her cheeks have flushed slightly and her brow has furrowed, I think she has come to the same conclusion that I have. Or she just didn't want to see anyone whilst looking like a thimble.

"If I - _we - _get to know people, it'll make it a hundred times harder to see them killed, and allies always backstab you in the end. I'd rather go in alone and safer, without having to worry that one of the people that I've grown to like are going to be killed, whether I'm going to have to kill them..." I tell her, looking to the side, focusing on the button glowing in the darkness.

Ferronia turns to Twilly. "What about you?"

Her tone is harsh, and the girl shrinks back into that huge costume.

"W-what he said," she mutters, pointing at me. Brilliant. Ferronia has managed to get us no sponsors (with the help of the stylists, of course), give me a headache, put down everything and everyone in favour of the Capitol, and scare Twilly.

I glare at the woman, ignoring the rest of her comment of "I'm sorry, dear..." and "I didn't _mean_ it like that!"

It comes as a relief when we finally reach our floor, and the first thing I see is a blur of faded blue material, which is pulled back by Woof. He and Rena stand directly opposite us, taking in our outfits, because I'm sure they would have watched the parade from here.

"Well, it's _slightly_ better up close," he jokes. Rena elbows him in the ribs and coughs.

"Yes, it's very nice." I can tell that it's sarcasm, and Twilly can too, but the Capitolians are too thick to realise. "But would you be able to get them out and ready for dinner?" It's Woof's turn to look shocked, and he leans in to mutter something in her ear. My prep team grab my arms in a surprisingly strong manner, and are about to drag me off when Rena calls out, "Wait! Actually, just take the costume. I'm sure they can manage fine. Show them to their rooms."

The teams look a little sad, and the stylists tell them to go downstairs to their own suites. The show of emotion is incredible – who knew they even have any form of emotion other than obsessive chatting and squawking and giggling?

Ferronia steps forward, and obviously expects us to follow, and we are led through the dark blue suite to a pair of doors, a few meters apart. A fancy painting of swirls in reds and oranges that look like fire hangs outside the door that is apparently mine, and Twilly has a much more subtle green and black one.

She tells us to be ready in half an hour before trotting off back to the central lounge, leaving us alone with the stylists.

Brietta presses a button, and the door slides open with a slight hiss. Twilly's stylist does the same, and I smile at her.

"See you in a bit."

She nods and smiles back, although it is much fainter that it was on the train.

'My' room is huge, glossy black wardrobes lining one wall, and a thick teal carpet. I feel myself sink a few millimetres into it, and spot another door that must lead to the bathroom. Brietta pushes me inside, past a luxurious bed that would be able to fit my entire family, bedside units, and a speaker with a white flap.

I have just enough time to wonder what it is, when I see the bathroom. It is completely unlike anything I have ever seen before, including the ones on the train. There are lines and lines of buttons, filling almost an entire wall, and so many gadgets that it would take a few months just to get through half. Luckily the shower is not overhanging – instead, it's fitted into the ceiling with small shining lights.

"Start getting undressed, and I'll get you a shower ready," Brietta says.

I still feel uncomfortable with being naked alone in a bathroom with her, but after getting glared at and threatened this morning, I do as she says.

She gives me a hand undoing all the buckles and straps attaching the solid plates to my back, standing away as I take off the underclothes, and leaving without a word.

I shake my head in wonder at the way her mind works – really, it's a mystery. Everything out here is a mystery, how they live, how they manage to be so well off and we have nothing, how different it is from home.

The thought of home sends a longing twist of pain through my heart, and I force myself into the running shower before my brain rushes into overdrive, because I can tell that stress is pushing it to the limit.

_No,_ I tell myself, _you have to be strong. For Amille._

I amuse myself by pressing random buttons, or making them spell out rude words, but end up coming out smelling like a bizarre mixture of roses, cinnamon, rice and grass.

I try to find the plainest clothes in the wardrobes – a hard task, as everything is so _bright_ and _silky_ and _smooth_.

A knock shakes me from my thoughts, which aren't very preoccupied with whether to go with the darker trousers or the lighter slacks. I give up.

"Hurry up! You're late, and we're all waiting for you!"

Ferronia. I sigh, and head towards the door and the insane escort complaining that she will get indigestion if I don't hurry. Amongst upcoming things, like being forced to fight to the death, I find that I honestly don't care.

"So, how did it go?" Rena asks as soon as I'm settled at the table. The Avoxes – the servants in red that are 'traitors' to the Capitol, and have had their tongues cut out - have put out enough food to feed a street of people, but no one has touched it yet.

I look at Ferronia before I answer. "Terrible. The costumes were awful...and I don't think we attracted very many people."

Ferronia looks disappointed in me.

"I had to stand on a block, and the stylist – s-she put me in that thing," Twilly tells them. I nod encouragingly, and she rolls up her sleeves to show the red gashes caused by the metal.

Woof hisses, and Rena swears under her breath. Ferronia looks away.

"The effect was good, though – it was bright and shiny and stood out! District Seven were dressed as trees!" she chirps.

The fact that we weren't the worst dressed is not very comforting. At least the other stylists had enough of a brain to make sure their tributes were happy with the outfit.

"It's better than some of the previous years, I agree," Woof says. Ferronia looks happy that someone agrees with her. He strokes his chin and eyes the pair of us. "But they _should_ have made you comfortable. Even when I had to be a needle, I was padded. It's atrocious that they didn't – I will speak with Chiron tomorrow."

Ferronia sighs and raises her hand at the table. "Go ahead and eat. You might as well, but be careful – this table costs more than you could ever make in your lives!"

Thank you for the fact, Ferronia. I'm sure we appreciate it, because we will _not_ make anything in our lives, because you and your _stupid_ Capitol are giving us a one-in twenty-four chance of survival in a fight to the death with people that have been specially trained. I open my mouth to say something, but Rena gives me a glare and I close it again. I take a bread roll, and Ferronia delicately nibbles a long piece of meat. Our mentors haven't moved, though.

Twilly asks them what's wrong, and Woof sighs.

"In the arena, there is going to be very little food, unless you can hunt, recognise berries, or become part of the Career pack. Everyone else is going to gorge themselves these few days before you go into the arena, and they are going to suffer."

I swallow my mouthful of bread. "Why?"

"They'll get used to eating a lot of rich food, and then have nothing in the arena. What will that lead to?"

I shrug and look at Twilly. She looks as confused as I feel.

Ferronia is ignoring us.

"They will starve far more easily than they would have had they not eaten so much. Their stomachs won't be able to handle the change from significantly full, to maybe a berry or two a day. It will make them ill, and then nature will take its course and they will die," Rena answers.

Oh.

"So you want us to train ourselves to not need very much to eat?" Twilly asks.

The mentors exchange a look, before saying yes.

"If you can train yourself to live on very little food, then you will last much longer. Trust me." Rena nods.

That makes sense, I suppose. Not that the strongest and most threatening will need to worry about starving.

"All right, that's enough starving talk. You have enough food now, and you might as well make the most of it, because you will _not_ be getting it again!" Ferronia snaps. We look at her, and her cheeks have flushed under all her makeup.

"We are not talking about now, we are talking about then, and getting them the best chance possible. Because I don't know about you, but I would like a victor!" Rena spits back. Her eyes have gone dark, and for a brief moment I can see the girl she was in her Games – quiet and watchful until the time came, and she went mad at the sight of her only ally's mangled body. She won two hours after her 'little' killing spree of four.

Ferronia shrinks back, and Woof takes hold of Rena's arm. She is still seething, and I can see Twilly shaking in her seat. The mentors mutter something to each other, and Ferronia opens her mouth to say something, but Woof's expression silences her.

"Leave. Now," he growls.

The escort takes one last look at us, then flees, her heels snapping down with each step. Now that it's over, I can feel myself shaking, but Woof has calmed his partner down, and she smiles, ashamed, at us.

"Anyway, moving on from that..." Her tone lightens again, and she offers me a slice of chicken. I refuse, still thinking about the whole overeat-now-starve-then thing.

"Ferronia mentioned you didn't want to get to know the different tributes, but didn't exactly explain it. What happened?" Woof asks. I sigh and open my mouth, ready to answer, but surprisingly, Twilly beats me to it and gives them pretty much the exact same explanation that I gave the others earlier. Her memory is incredible, because I can't even remember it word-for-word like that.

When she is finished, Rena nods understandingly, and Woof pours a glass of wine. Again, I'm offered some, but again, I refuse. I haven't tried wine or any other form of alcohol in my life, and I don't particularly want to out _here_, to drown out my last days alive.

"Good. At least you've understood the concept of the Games. It's a _fight to the death_, and if you have friends or any form of attachments, then it will make your job much harder. The Careers always betray each other in the end, and I've seen plenty of people in alliances who later turn on their partner, or go crazy because they saw them die," Woof tells us. My cheeks flush slightly with the praise, and I pretend to cough as a cover-up.

"What do you want us to do tomorrow?" I ask, and my heart flutters as I await the response. I could do anything, but if we're told to stick together, then I have a problem.

No offence to Twilly, she's absolutely lovely and sweet, but having a twelve-year-old tagging around will slow both of us down, and I definitely do not want to get any more attached to her. If after a day I feel like some sort of older brother, and try to help and protect her – because, in all fairness, I'm the only one save the mentors who has even bothered - who knows what it's going to be like after a few days of training?

But if I leave her, what would the others do?

This is far too stressful. Maybe I should request private training, and avoid human contact. But then she would be hurt that I left her, and–

_Shut up and breathe!_ I tell myself, as my vision clouds. _Panicking is _not_ going to make anything any easier for anyone._

Rena seems to sense my conflicted mind, and arches an eyebrow. "I would suggest splitting up, to learn different things – for instance, Weave, you try a few things like hand-to-hand combat, maybe spears, handling a knife, et cetera, in the morning. And swap to survival in the afternoon. But really, it's entirely up to you."

Woof catches my eye and winks slightly, and I remember our plan from last night. _Spears. Speed. Survival._

Twilly asks a few more questions and I allow my mind to wander, think about tomorrow and start to count down the days to the arena. I eat about the same amount as I do at home, to try and bring the change round _slowly_, planning to eat less tomorrow, then less again, and less...

I think about home again, and how very far away it seems.

I only left yesterday morning, but that has melted away, and time feels like nothing but a giant stopwatch, ticking off every breath I have left. Not the nicest thoughts, I admit, but it takes my mind off the worry about everyone else. I must focus on myself, not them. Me.

"Are you finished eating?"

I look at Twilly and realise that I'm the only one still seated. _Wait, how did that happen?_

I nod and her, and the Avoxes come out to clear the table. Rena and Woof have wandered to the central living area and turned on the television. Twilly raises a shaky eyebrow before going to sit with them.

I try to ignore the fact that I have just managed to completely zone out, and put it down to stress. I'm fifteen. I'm not mad, I just didn't realise.

"Do you two want to watch the recaps of the Parade?" Woof asks.

"And see how ridiculous we looked in comparison to everyone else again? No thank you. I might go to bed," I reply. He snorts, and Twilly giggles nervously. Rena rolls her eyes at her partner, and bids me goodnight.

I say goodnight back, grab a cup of water from a small window sink and head back to my room. Ferronia's corridor is silent apart from her few muttered curses, in a much deeper and more normal voice than I have ever heard come from her before.

Shaking my head amusedly at her many different character, I go into my room, change into a pair of red silk pyjamas, and try my hardest to fall asleep in the plush bed.

Eventually, I hear Twilly come through, call "goodnight" softly through my door, and retreat into her room.

I hear the mentors come through a short while after, chuckling and muttering under their breath (evidently trying to be quiet), and possibly a little bit drunk. I roll my eyes at their pathetic attempts and curl up tightly on my side, trying not to think of the upcoming events.

Like the fact I have to meet all the other people that have to die so I can come home, and learn how to kill them, whilst they're doing exactly the same.

* * *

**Adeline Matthews, 15 ~ District 10 Female**

**the epic bookworm**

After one last smile and wave, my chariot disappears from the audience.

I step off the chariot, relaxing my aching cheek muscles and lowering my arm, which is tingling from holding it up for so long.

Rameses rolls his eyes. "That was idiotic."

"Wasn't that bad. Preparation was far worse," I reply.

He grunts disgustedly at the mention of the stylist session. I don't know what happened during his, but during mine, I was poked, prodded, pulled, and otherwise "remade". From ripping hair off my legs with glue-covered strips, to slopping absurd amounts of makeup onto my already-tan skin, making me look utterly bizarre.

And don't even get me started on the outfits. Not exactly the most dignifying. With a loose plaid shirt, a short, bright red checkered skirt, a leather belt with a large gold medallion, cowboy boots, and – to top it all off – a cowboy hat on my head and a pitchfork in my hand.

Rameses was more annoyed than I was, though; he scowled the whole chariot ride. I tried to get sponsors by waving, smiling, and otherwise using charm, but my pathetic costume didn't help.

Lucky District 1. Their industry being luxury items, all the stylists have to do is figure out some new way to stick gems onto an outfit. The tributes this year had crowns, regal scepters, and jewels everywhere. They could've had huge grimaces on their faces and still earned sponsors.

Even District _6 _had better costumes than us.

I'll just have to shine in training and the interview.

"Okay job," Silas says, beckoning us over.

Rameses nods, and walks into the main building quickly.

"We're going to dinner," Silas announces, Lisette following. He walks very quickly, and I fall behind soon enough.

Lisette smiles. "You were great. Don't mind Silas, he's just annoyed that Rameses wasn't smiling or waving."

"Thanks." I smile. I wish Lisette had been my mentor; she's so much nicer than Silas. He's extraordinarily cunning and a master of strategy, which has helped me plan things, but he can be quite cold.

The male from 2 bumps into me.

"Sorry," he says. Then, he winks with a grin. "I'm Dominic Parraldi, by the way. See you tomorrow?"

"Ah…well…yes," I finish, stuttering. He grins one more time and before he can talk more, I slip into the elevator.

That was awkward.

Awkward, but somehow nice. At least someone noticed me. Although I don't think it's good that he could very well be one of the most dangerous tributes, being a Career.

The brightly lit hallways sting my eyes, used to the dim of the night. Of course, outside still wasn't dark, thanks to infinite sparklers, glowsticks, lanterns, and bioluminescence alterations lighting up the already-bright Capitol.

Silas, Lisette, and Rameses are already eating the luscious food provided by the Capitol. I say my hellos and dive into the food. Who knew standing on a chariot waving could make a girl so hungry?

"So," Silas breaks the silence, "let's just say you'll have to be more charming than _that _in your interviews. But for current events, training is tomorrow. What are you considering doing?"

"I want to learn some hand-to-hand combat," I reply. "And swimming."

"Good. Hand-to-hand combat will be useful if you find yourself without weapons. Swimming could be okay. Try to do some climbing and weapons skills. What about you, Rameses?" Silas says briskly.

"I'd like to learn edible plants. Run some. Useful things."

"Edible plants?" Silas snickers. "Learn about the poison ones. That's something you can actually use."

"Okay." Rameses ends the conversation.

"What about alliances?" I ask.

"Avoid them," Silas says coldly. "You can't trust anyone. Only ally with someone who you can use, and only if absolutely necessary. Never ally out of pity."

"But alliances can be useful, if one gathers a big group with varied skills," I argue.

"Anyone could turn on you at any time, kill you in your sleep, steal your supplies. Avoid other people. That's how I won."

"Fine. But what if the Careers invite me into their pack?"

"They won't."

"Hypothetically speaking."

"Okay then: don't join them. They're better than you, and could kill you easily. Got it?"

I nod.

"Good. Get to bed, you have a big day ahead of you."

The Avoxes clear our plates, and we walk into our separate rooms. Training tomorrow. I have a fair chance of getting a high score, but I need to learn more; I don't have enough skills on my own.

I'm going into the Games in six days. In six days, my life could be over.

I never imagined it happening to me. I saw it on the screen every year without fail, but I never could've pictured it. _I'm going to die. _Somehow, saying it bluntly almost lets me accept it. Almost.

Let's see what I can learn in training. Let's see what score I get. Maybe I shouldn't count myself out. Who knows? I could have a chance.

With that inspiring thought, and me trying to make myself believe it, I click off the light and go to sleep.

* * *

_He never said sorry. Never told me what he did. He was a coward. Oh, he was regretful, but he never worked up the courage to tell me what he did._

_And I never remembered._

_I blocked it out, no one reminded, I didn't want to remember, and I forgot._

_It's not hard to forget things if no one wants you to remember._

* * *

I wake.

My glowing clock reads 2:13 a.m.

Why did I wake up? There was a dream…I don't remember a thing about it. Like an itch I can't reach, it eludes me. _What was it?_ Something involving Dad. But I just can't _remember._

It takes me a long time to get back to sleep, but when I do, I dream about the Games. Blood flying everywhere. The muscular brute boy from 1 stabbing, and the tall, cocky one from 5 smirking as everyone around him dies. The sarcastic girl from 2 drenched head-to-toe in blood, smiling, and the poor blind girl from 6 dead at her feet. Soon enough, I die, killed by the girl from 1. People trample my body lying prone, and all I can see is red. Deep crimson staining my body.

Beatrix wakes me. "Up-and-at-'em, Addy, it's time for training," she says dully, staring absentmindedly at a wall.

Let it begin.


	15. Training: Day One

******Girraffe's A/N **- Just a short one. I worked hard and tried my best, so here it is, and I hope you enjoy!

Yeah, and I am going to step out now.

**Cecelia Trimble, 13 ~ District 6 Female**

**pinkgirraffe10**

I wake up, completely forgetting where I am. I stretch and yawn, and expect to feel my sort of stiff bed at home, but instead find a super-comfortable, puffy Capitol bed. Well, I guess my "dream" was true: I'm in the Capitol, awaiting my certain doom, and I can't even see! Yep, that's it.

I feel around this thing the Capitol calls a room and find my dresser, after going to the shower, taking a belly flop on my bed, and bumping repeatedly into the vanity (I think). I move my hands and listen for something like a cotton dress, or regular pants and a t-shirt. But all I hear is scratching lace, ruffling leather, and a type of fabric I'm unaware of.

I find the best I can get—a pair of jeans with a cotton mini-skirt, flats of some sort, and a t-shirt that I have no clue what fabric it is—and slip it on. I flop back in bed and try to think, but the sound of Zeus pounding on my door gets me up.

"Cecelia! I order you to open up now! You need to be having breakfast and going to the Training Centre! Oh, where did your mentor go?"

Dang it. I totally forgot about training!

They must have put the training outfit out for me! Where is it, where is it? Ah, right next to my bed. I change again, putting on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt - things I'm much, much more comfortable in.

I slip out for breakfast, and gladly don't hear the swishing sound like from the train ride. I plop down where I'm guessing my spot at the table is and start taking random things, like a piece of what I think is bacon and a few soft things like fruits.

Then disaster strikes. I reach out for a fork and find one. Apparently, someone is beside me, because they say "Hey!" in a high Capitol accent that annoys me ever so much and grab it from me. Zeus's fork, then. I reach closer to my plate and find mine. I try to stab my bacon, but no such luck. I am way off and accidentally stab Zeus's hand! I guess I can't stop hurting him.

"Yow! Yowwey! Yyyooooowwww!" Zeus screams. I think even the people on the District 12 floor heard! "What did you do that for, Cecelia?!" I am trying to hold back laughter because I'm about to burst. I just chuckle, and he must be glaring at me because he doesn't say anything more.

"So, I need to know if you're any good in anything!" my mentor, Petra, squeaks. She is the only female victor, so I guess I am stuck with her.

I shrug and reply, "Nothin' much. Just fast, and I can climb, and start a fire easily." I count things off as I say them. I don't mention my major disadvantage. It doesn't need to come up quite yet.

"So, that's pretty good! Try to go for something like hand-to-hand combat. But don't go in to the Bloodbath - that's where most die. And, Cecelia, why did you stab his hand?" Petra questions me. Well, better now than later.

"Petra, I don't know how you haven't noticed, but I'm legally blind. I've been blind since birth!" I reply gingerly. I hear complete silence. Wow. They really didn't know. I have to keep myself from laughing.

"Okay, everyone in the elevator! Down to the Training Centre!" Zeus breaks the silence. I stand up and go to the ding of the elevator.

I hear footsteps behind me, and assume it is Chris. We go down many levels, and some others enter. I think one might be a Career district, because we stopped a little farther down but not completely. Some people snicker, but I ignore it.

Chris takes my hand when I hear another ding. He guides me to the circle where everyone stands.

A door opening comes through the silence. I'm guessing it's the head trainer. I'm proven right when they march past me into the middle of the circle, and start talking about how we cannot kill each other here, and to pay attention to survival skills and all that. And then we are dismissed.

Chris drags me to the hand-to-hand combat area. I'm first, and feel around me. The trainer is in the far right corner and advancing on me - he leaps, and I dodge. He turns, but I hit him straight in the chest and legs. And I'm in the position to beat his skull when a moan of pain comes, and I stop and walk to the exit.

Chris guides me to the javelin station, and I hear the wiring of the gears of dummies and manage to hit some, so I might be good with that. He takes his turn and I hear some thuds. Definitely more than the ones I heard for me.

We go to the opposite side of the room. As we pass the middle, I think I hear people snickering. It just occurred to me that they might think we like each other! I dismiss that thought and feel pieces of flint go into my hand. Fire-starting. I rub them together and get a spark. Easy. It takes a while for Chris to do it, but he eventually does.

Next we go to the Gauntlet. I do well so far because I can hear the club moving through the air and the sound of them having to dodge the pieces for landing, so I can land and dodge. Then I take full charge on the last one. I leap with extra power to the final piece of land this way. I land fine, and then I can't stop! I go smashing into the wall and slide down. _**Ow!**_

Chris comes running over and helps me up. I definitely hear laughing now. I feel embarrassed.

Suddenly, I hear an ear-piercing scream! Something lands next to me with a loud thud and doesn't move. Some people rush around us and swarm us.

Apparently something big happened. Peacekeeper boots thump on the floor, and I hear the soft vibrations of something like a cot. Either someone's passed out or dead. I'm lucky. That could have been me! I'm not going back on the Gauntlet!

Soon, the trainers say it's the end of the day, and to go back up to our levels.

We wait a while, because Chris wanted to talk to the trainers about something. We board with a few others and go up.

I go straight to the dining area to find my seat. This time I don't stab Zeus, but I come close to it. He seems scared of me. Well, I see why. We eat in silence.

Then I leave for my room, and change into some comfortable pants and a t-shirt that hangs loosely and comfortably. I jump into bed and think of the events of the day. I notice that some things are engraved in Braille and start reading happily; there's one book called "Greek Gods and Goddesses" that I find very exciting.

Then I wind down into sleep, with dreams of the Games and Tommy.

* * *

**Rameses Johnson, 14 ~ District 10 Male**

**3rdbase101  
**

I wake early in the morning, gripping the clean bed sheets with tightly-clenched fists. Remnants of the dream I had slip from my mind, leaving me with a sense of dread. I pull up curtains covering my room's large windows, and peer out.

Just as I expected: the sun isn't up yet.

I frown. Even though I have time to sleep in, I can't shake the habits hardwired into my skull.

With a sigh, I sit on the bed. I have about another hour or so before anyone else is up, and I'm unsure of what to do. Maybe Adeline will be up, but I don't want to impose on her. Especially because I can't count on an intelligent conversation.

My mind turns to goodbyes, and I gasp - Maya gave me something, but I totally forgot about it! I scramble around my nightstand, looking for the tightly-wrapped object, and sit on the bed, opening the tissue as I do so. What's inside causes me to gasp again. It's a ring. Particularly, my grandmother's ring. Tuya gave it to Maya as a birthday present a year ago. The emeralds shine brightly around the inlaid diamond, illuminating my face. It means a lot that Maya would give me this; not only is it a token from her, but it's a token from the rest of the family. I would proudly wear this on a chain.

The clock reads 4:30, and I sigh again. I flop down on the bed in frustration. I don't have any cows to take care of, or shifts at the shop to take, and it's annoying. I close my eyes for a second, thinking of the dread that still rushes through my body.

"Rameses?" Lisette calls, jolting me.

A quick look at the clock tells me it's 6:57. Father would have wrung my neck if I'd slept this late; I'm disturbed my body allowed me to.

I get up, the alien feeling of drowsiness making me stupid and slow. I shuffle over to the dresser and put on the designated training clothes. They feel itchy and tight against my skin, and I long for my loose-fitted work clothes.

Lisette is already sitting at the table when I walk in. She waves me over with a look of excitement, and I sit next to her glumly.

"So," she says in a lilting voice, "today's Training! You excited?"

I grunt, taking eggs onto my plate.

Lisette frowns a little, and shifts in her chair to better face me. "This is important, Rameses," she says. Her voice is so determined that I look up, surprised. "This is for a good score. You learn things here, like tying ropes, or...a new weapon. Then you show off your skills to the Gamemakers. This decides if you live or die." Lisette takes a deep breath, composing herself. "If you mess around in training, you might as well be signing your own death contract."

I stare, surprised that she actually lost some of her cool with me. "Yes, Lisette," I mutter. "I'll try today."

Lisette's smile comes back in full force, and she opens her mouth to say something. Thankfully, Adeline walks in at that second, sparing me from continuing to talk.

Silas appears mere seconds later, a scowl on his face. "We need to go," he says gruffly. "We're going to be late if we don't leave soon."

I look at the clock, confused. It's only around 7:30.

And I look back at Silas.

He glowers, and spits out a response to my unspoken question. "You get there early, you're better off."

Adeline nods, and grabs some bacon from the pile. I take her lead and pull a croissant from under a large bagel. Silas ushers us out the door, and I try to eat my food quickly.

He's annoying me greatly, because he's telling me what to do. I like to be early anyway, but he's rushing me.

Silas pushes the elevator button just as I finish my warm croissant. He places his hand on my shoulder to guide me, but I shake it off with a grumble. He looks at me sourly, and steps in the elevator as the doors close.

The ride down is quiet, without any intervention from other tributes. The doors open on the training level, and I'm filled with awe: station after station, all proclaiming some type of survival aid.

A group of tributes already wait, making me think about what Silas said. The district partners are all together, as we haven't really mingled with each other yet. I look around for Lisette, but both of my mentors are gone.

I quickly count off the tributes, and realize that we are one of the last districts to arrive. Adeline is staring around, and I move closer to her. These people are my sworn enemies, and in a few days I'll be fighting them to the death.

* * *

The head trainer gives a small speech to the gathered group, but it's easy to tell that nobody's really listening. He talks about some of the skills we could learn over the course of the next few days, and some of the rules. One of the most frowned-upon things, apparently, is fighting or maiming another tribute before the Games.

The head trainer claps his hands, and the group disperses. I don't even know where to begin, and stare at the stations. The Careers have already wandered to various weapons stations, showing off their skills with gusto. Other tributes are at other stations, like knot-tying or archery. I'm not very good at anything, so I resign myself to the edible plants station.

The instructor is a very patient woman, who explains the plants to me. I already know some, and quickly separate the toxins from the pile. "Good," she praises. I'm gifted with a soft smile, but I ignore it. That wasn't very hard. I must know the plants better than I thought.

She lays out another pile of plant stems and flowers, looking at me expectantly. I pick out the deadly ones I know, and stare at the three that I don't know at all. Randomly, I place the two brightly-colored berries out of the pile and leave in the small leaves with serrated edges.

She frowns a little, and takes the berries out of the poisonous pile. "This is a mulberry," she explains. "It's common to District Eleven." I nod at her words, memorizing the edible berry and storing it in my mind. "You see how it's compound?" she asks. I nod again, prompting her to continue. "Generally, compound berries are edible. Like raspberries." The information is extremely helpful. I will be more likely to eat compound berries in the Games than I was before.

She lays out another pile of plants, and I go through them easily. I feel that she wants to boost my confidence before an extremely hard pile. As I expected, she lays out a bunch of plants that I don't know.

I pick out the four I actually know. She sighs, but has a smile; it's clear that she enjoys teaching me.

"This is conium, dear," she says, pointing to a thickly-grouped bunch of pink and white flowers. "It can cause death within minutes, because it shuts down your central nervous system." I nod. "This is elderberry" - she motions to the distinctive roots - "you won't be able to eat at all without throwing the food up." She explains a few other plants, and I pay acute attention. I add hyacinth, spindle and cicuta to my 'extremely deadly' list. A few other plants are added to my 'healthy to eat' pile.

When she tells me it's time to recap what I just learned, I breeze through the piles effectively. I've added a large amount of new plants to my knowledge, and I hope that I will know them when it really matters.

"Thanks," I say to the instructor, and step away from the station. My head throbs a little from all the information, but I'm eager to learn more. She smiles warmly.

The other tributes are focusing on various tasks. I catch the male from 3 watching me, but he turns away when I make eye contact. Otherwise, I have been fairly unnoticed.

I see a few tributes on what the head trainer called the Gauntlet. It's basically an obstacle course, which I would never try. I'm not good with agility and such; I've always been better with stamina.

The District 4 female seems to have a lead on the others as she races them through the Gauntlet. I stop walking, watching their progress as they approach the highest part of the course. A few other tributes mimic my action.

Christopher Silver, the male from District 6, sticks out his foot in a motion to trip up Alison. It's a smart move, considering you can use any means necessary to win.

However, the move goes awry: Alison's foot connects solidly with Christopher's outstretched one, and she loses her balance. Her arms pinwheel for a second, and she begins falling. I see her falling as if it's in slow motion - her face is screwed up in fear, and her mouth opens to scream.

Unfortunately, that scream never comes. She hits the wood floor with an audible crack, right on her neck. Peacekeepers rush over. A few of the girl tributes start screaming, filling the large room with cacophonous din.

The Careers are unperturbed. They look at each other in disbelief, but none of them scream. Gleam, from District 1, reaches for another sword. They act as if this happens every day, which I know it doesn't.

A group begins to form around Alison's body. Peacekeepers circle her to keep the tributes out. A doctor pushes their way through the tributes, shouting as they do so. Instructors try to corral all the tributes away from the body.

The noise is confusing and deafening. People run about and cower in corners. Tears flow. A large portion of people don't even know what's happening.

"She's dead!" the doctor announces, causing more screams to erupt. A tribute hasn't ever died before the Games; it's unprecedented. And it's obvious that people don't know what to do.

A bell rings high above my head; it's the lunch bell. A glance at the clock tells me that it's too early for lunch, and they just want the tributes out of the training room.

Peacekeepers who aren't attending to Alison roam through the hysterical crowd. A burly man grabs my arm, and I shout in indignation. He looks down at me before roughly pushing me through the lunchroom doors.

I stumble in, looking around the plain lunchroom they force me to be in. Tributes follow after me, some still pale with shock. Others have tear stains drying on their faces. I make a face at them and stride towards the line.

It's obvious that the servers heard of the tragedy, but have orders not to speak of it. They are tightlipped and ashen as they hand me my food. I take it solemnly, and move to a table in the corner of the room. I'd rather not be near anyone; I can't count on an interesting, intelligent conversation. Plus, I am trying to recall all the plants I learned today. It wouldn't be very smart for anyone to approach me now.

As if I conjured him from my very negative thoughts, the boy from District 3 walks over with his tray. "Can I sit here?" he asks.

I just stare at him, not fully lifting my head. He seems all right - an intellectual person. I shrug, and violently stab at a tomato. It slips out from underneath my fork, and I grumble at it.

Agustis, I think his name is, pulls back a chair and sits across from me. I glance furtively at him once, and he's silently eating. I might actually like him. Silent people are deadly, but they're a lot less annoying.

He catches my eye, and I freeze. "I saw you earlier," he says, holding his fork in his left hand. "You looked pretty good at the edible plants station. You learn quickly. And I was wondering if you'd want to be my ally?"

Agustis looks at me hopefully, and I have to struggle to keep my jaw from dropping. This is the most surprising thing I've heard all day. People – a person – wants _me_ as an ally?

I drop my head, focusing on my food. Thoughts are racing each other around my head, much like the tributes on the Gauntlet this morning. If I choose the wrong one, I'll die.

Sure, having an ally would be nice. We could take turns on watch, I wouldn't be completely alone in fights, and we'd have double the food.

There would also be a large number of problems, too. What if this tribute killed me in my sleep? He could be a nobody that wants some sort of protection. We'd eat more combined than just me.

I mentally kick myself for not paying more attention to the tributes in the training room. I would have a better idea of what this older boy can do, and if he can help me.

The bell rings, and I figure that they have had enough time to clean up the corpse.

Agustis opens his mouth, but I reply before he can say anything. "I'll tell you later."

I walk towards the door, following the group of tributes. I hear Avoxes behind me, cleaning up the mess. When the door opens, a strong scent of disinfectant breaches my nose. They cleaned well, and the body is nowhere in sight.

The tributes are beginning to move away, to learn the skills they had been doing before they were so rudely interrupted.

I amble to the sword station, and grab a large sword. It unbalances me, and a few people laugh. My cheeks color. There's a reason that I don't do big swords.

I place it down and grab a lighter, rapier-like sword. I swish it around, imagining fake fights that could become real all too quickly. The instructor looks pitifully on me, but allows me to continue my play-fighting.

I pick up a variety of sharp swords, but none of them feel as right in my hand as the thin one did. Minutes fly by as I slice up fake opponents. My arms grow heavy with fatigue, and I wind up dropping the sword I clenched tightly in my hand.

At once, I feel as if all the tributes are gawking at me; their eyes bear into my own, and I gently place the sword back on the rack. Slowly, all the tributes look away, leaving me by myself again.

_It must be close to the end of the day_, I think. I'm tired and frustrated, and I can't really do this anymore. I can't learn anything else today. The herbs and edible plants took me out mentally, and I didn't really learn any sword techniques.

A woman calls attention to the front of the room, and all tributes gather around. I stick near the back, away from the throng of people I'll have to kill eventually. I see a few other tributes with my idea, like Lila.

The instructor explains that Alison's death was very tragic, which we all know. She conveniently leaves out that this is the first time a tribute has died before the Games. I snort, and listen closer. She goes on to say that a new tribute will have to be picked; a reaping will be held tomorrow, and will give us a new District 4 female.

She finishes, and dismisses us from Training Day 1. I sigh, and walk towards the elevator with a large number of other tributes. I see Agustis momentarily, and decide quickly.

I will take him as an ally in these Games. Our alliance will protect me for longer, and I can actually stand him as a person. It'll be a symbiotic relationship, and we'll both get pretty far.

I step into the elevator, happy with my decision. I can't wait to tell him tomorrow.

* * *

**Rosemary Thyme****, 16 ~ District 11 Female**

**CrazedWolfPuppy  
**

Upon reaching the Capitol, I start to realize how. . ._big_ our districts are. The Capitol is big, but the districts are huge!

So many colorful people.

Holy smoke, that person has birdy wings! Is that person. . .pink?!

I gape at the lot of them as I peer out the window. Then I wipe my face of emotion and watch as the tribute train is recognized and they point at me.

None of these poor ignorant folk realize that their Games make so many miserable; how terrible the Games truly are. None of them. . .even care. The thought hurts my heart so badly that I turn away from the window and lean against the wall.

I've never missed my home so badly! My poor, innocent family, already suffering the loss of yet another child taken away, probably never to return. First my brother, now me. I never knew life to be so cruel, but I suppose that that is just the way it is.

I look at the necklace Birch wove for me, and imagine him climbing a tree to pick any apples that I had not either picked or saved. He climbed to my branch and 'accidentally' took my hand in his, 'thinking that it was part of the branch'. He smiled casually, and pointedly sneaked an apple under his shirt for later. I picked an apple and handed it to him for his basket. He laughed and tugged on a branch, making leaves fall into my hair.

The memory starts to hurt, so I turn off my brain.

I walk out, and find the peppy escort coming to fetch me. She smiles big and heads back the way she came. I follow her, after making sure my mother's dress, the book, and my necklace are safely with me.

I walk through it all in a daze. Weird people flash by. A tall building with lots of windows and stories. Seeder, the kind victor that everyone loves, walks behind me.

* * *

Pallas Lenore, Seeder, Nabby Ruthaw, and all the freaky beings of my imagination get into the elevator, and we shoot up to the eleventh floor. Once we get there, I head straight to my room and look around.

It's a nice room. The color scheme is mostly red with some lighter accents here and there. Plush pillows, nice-looking bed, dresser, closet, and nightstands - all the stuff that Capitol people can't live without. Me, I don't really need the plushness. I shake my head, and start throwing pillows onto the floor.

I walk to what might be a menu and order something that doesn't sound too rich. I end up with something that resembles a chicken; I nibble on it, before I dump it in the trash and collapse on the bed.

I gave at the necklace Birch made me, and try not to think of how lonely I am right now. I wish I were home. Safely tucked in bed, where I could feel my family's arms around me. My stomach hurts, but I doubt it's from the chicken-like thing.

I curl up on top of the covers like I normally do, and just try to remember.

I've always taken my life for granted. Even though I could be killed on the spot.

I close my eyes and try to fall asleep. I'm not asleep ten seconds before I wake up with a knot of dread in my stomach.

I take a bath, as I have nothing better to do. I sit in the tub for what seems like a long time before I figure out what's wrong with me. It's another dream. I get out and dry myself off, refusing to use any of the Capitol's "conveniences".

I put on my mother's dress, and knock on Seeder's door. Maybe she can help me settle the unease. She opens the door and smiles at me. She has a nice complexion, warm brownish eyes, and black hair.

"What is it, Rosemary? It's late; I thought you'd be asleep by now?" Seeder's caring nature makes me feel better.

"I'm not used to being alone at night. Sorry if I disturbed you."

I don't want to feel like I might burst into tears at any second. I hate that feeling. I hate it. It's the truth, though - I hate being alone at night. I used to sleep with my parents. Then I slept with my siblings, because they had similar problems.

"Of course not, come in." Seeder closes the door behind me. I stand awkwardly by the wall, and she brings me to sit on the bed next to her. "So what is the problem?"

"Other than not wanting to be alone? I only have a one-in-twenty-four chance to live; that's like one in a million." I play with the velvet trim around my collar.

"Honey, you have just as much chance as everyone else," Seeder tries to reassure me.

"My family never was able to finish the Games; my brother proved that."

Instantly, Seeder understands. "Your brother was chosen four years ago, wasn't he? I remember. Perhaps you'll be able to win and put your family's heart at ease."

I look at her for a moment. We live off stolen apples and tesserae. My family's hearts have never been at ease. I look away and play with my collar.

I wish I never came here. I should have just killed myself and got it over with.

Better than being hunted like an animal.

"I don't want to end up like my brother," I say. "I don't want to put my family through all that heartache."

"Well, there is a chance that you won't have to. What are you planning on doing during the Games?"

"Find water, rig some snares. I'll have to go to that station so I can learn. I'm pretty good with my hands, so it shouldn't be too hard; it's probably just like weaving and stuff. I should probably do a little of everything during training, huh?"

"Yes, that would be advisable. The more knowledge you have, the more likely you are to survive."

"Well, I'm cunning, and I don't really need much to survive. All I need is a couple good knives and some snare wire, and that would be it, really."

"I think you have a good plan going. Why don't you try to get some sleep? You've got a. . ._big, big, big day _tomorrow." Seeder copies Pallas' accent and perkiness to a 't'. I giggle, and Seeder laughs too.

"Having fun at the Capitol's expense is fun. Their accent is so weird! I thought I actually saw a pink person. That was weird."

"Yes, but then there are also those who dye their skin yellow, green. . .blue; they don't know it makes them look sick." Seeder smiles. And I nod in agreement.

"Thanks, Seeder. I think I'll get out of your hair now." I head to the door.

"You're welcome. That's a very pretty dress, by the way."

"Thank you, I hope my mom gets it back in one piece. Actually-" I give Seeder the book I normally always keep with me. "Should I not make it out, could you give this back to my parents? It's special to them."

"Of course. But don't give up, Rosemary."

"Genesis. My mom named me Genesis. I never really appreciated it - I should," I say, and head out. I go to my room and fall asleep. Forcing myself through sweet dreams of my family sitting together in a field.

Early next morning, after I can't stand the ever-constant dreams, I get up and brush my hair. I change out of my mother's dress into black clothes. I leave my hair down so it hides my face.

I head to the dining area and spot Seeder. She smiles and motions for me to join her. I do, after grabbing a cup full of. . .something, and some bread that I recognize. It's tesserae bread, but the loaves are bigger. Normal loaves, sprinkled with seeds. I'll stick to food I'm familiar with. I sit across from her and dip the bread into the cup of. . .stuff. I nibble on it.

"That's hot chocolate, it's good," Seeder says. "Anyway, training today - you have your plan already. Others will be flaunting their strengths, so keep a watchful eye. What you need to do, and what I see you're already doing, is trying to stay away from their sight; that's a good thing. Don't show them what you're capable of. Let them think you're a weakling."

"Never underestimate one's enemy. Never overestimate them, either. Stay on the lookout for weakness. Don't show off like the others. Pretend weakness. Got it," I say. "I'm already trying not to be spotted. I guess it isn't working, huh?"

"I saw you because I was looking for you. I almost thought you were a shadow, but the brown in your hair gave you away."

"Darn it, my hair always gets in the way. It's never tamable." It falls in very thick waves down my back, and nearly swallows my head, now that I think of it.

"Your brother's wasn't much better. However, his was much shorter. You have beautiful hair. If you're forced to cut it, remember - it will grow back." Seeder smiles, and I laugh a little.

"Yeah, I know, but I'm rather attached. I can hide a bunch of stuff in it. It's cool and stuff." I finish my bread and sip the hot chocolate. I stop halfway through and get another piece of bread. I finish the chocolate with the bread.

"It's rich, isn't it? I'm guessing you don't like it." Seeder must know me well.

"I don't like the overwhelming flavors. Capitol life isn't for me. I pulled all the pillows off my bed last night; I didn't like how soft they were." I realize how much I sound like a brat.

"I checked on you earlier this morning. How did you end up on the floor?"

"The carpet felt better than the bed. I thought it would eat me." I laugh, and Seeder does too. "Carpet can't eat me."

"No. No, it can't, but neither can a bed. Perhaps you'll get used to it. Maybe not," Seeder adds quickly when I give her a disbelieving look. "Come on, let's not be late. The training hall is in the basement."

I follow Seeder to the elevator. It looks so clean.

Seeder stays in the elevator as I get out and spot the circle gathered around someone. I stay away and listen to all the rules.

When he dismisses us, I go to the knot-tying station and start working on snares. I was right - it's like weaving. I successfully block out the rest of the people for the first hour.

I go to the poisonous insects. The guy seems positively joyous that someone actually visited him. Considering that I'll be living off wildlife, this station will be good for me.

After bugs is fire-starting. After an hour of toil, I manage to start a fire using only rocks, flint, and some cloth.

I notice people staring at someone, so I get up and watch too. The Gauntlet is the main attraction - a series of obstacles that is mostly for agility and such.

The District 4 female, Alison Rain, is in the lead. Followed closely by the District 6 male, Christopher Silver. I'm about to turn away when I catch the movement. Christopher sticks out his foot to trip Alison. I start to call out a warning, but it's much too late for that; she trips and falls onto the hardwood floor, and a '**_CRACK!_**' splits the air. I shiver, knowing the sound of something breaking; I peek at the girl and see that her neck is very obviously broken.

I gasp in horror, refusing to scream like many of the other girls are. I start to shiver violently as flashes of my brother shift painfully through my head. He died in a similar way. I had stayed up to watch the Games, against my parents' wishes. I watched my brother dash through the forest to outrun the fire crawling towards him. He made it to the Cornucopia and hid inside it from the licking flames.

The remaining Careers cornered him just after he managed to climb out of the Cornucopia. He tried to run, but he was burned, and they caught him easily. All I could think was how merciful his death was - one twist.

The Careers ignore it. Peacekeepers are shocked, but they can't do anything. The doctor can't do anything; I hear the lunch bell just after they declare her dead.

Peacekeepers that aren't trying to block the view from other tributes pick out stragglers - like me, for instance. This Peacekeeper is female. Long dark hair, light green eyes, soft complexion. She takes a firm hold of my arm.

"Come along, girl," she says softly. I stand there for a moment. She starts to push me toward the doors, but I don't budge. "Come on." She tries to push me again.

"A cry was heard in Ramah –– weeping and great mourning. Rachel weeps for her children, refusing to be comforted, for they are dead," I mutter. And the Peacekeeper looks at me curiously. Matthew 2:18. I turn stiffly and head to the lunchroom.

I only want tesserae bread and hot chocolate, so that's what I get. I eat it in silence, a dazed and pained look on my face. I'm still shivering, still thinking about the night my brother's body was given to us in a box. He had such a peaceful look on his face. I remember crying my eyes out for a whole day after. Whenever an unlucky kid broke his arm or even a finger, I sobbed so hard that I had to be sent home.

I shoot arrows, pretending to miss when actually I'm hitting my targets. A light. A crack on the floor. A nail in the wall. A chip in the wall's paint. Such like that.

I throw some knives, too - until I almost hit the District 1 male in the shoulder. I don't think he notices, so I quickly put the knives back and hurry away before anyone tells him.

After training, I go up to my room. I curl on the floor and try to have a nightmare. I'm not disappointed: the rest of the night is filled with my brother's and Alison's deaths.


	16. Dinner: I

**Wjj's A/N****: **I am back with _everyone's_ favorite character, Lila Callbrooke! Yes, I know - you all love me, her, and District 2! So cheer!

Okay, yeah, I'm done. But maybe you'll like Lila a little more after this? Of course you will, because...I mean...it's...well, you'll just die. I died. For reasons. I would say the reasons, but then it'd be an extreme spoiler.

Lila's a mixed-up, confused little person that really wants Gleam to fall off the face of the Earth. By the way, her brother Trais? His name is pronounced "Trey". And isn't English toffee cheesecake just the greatest thing _known to mankind?_ I think so. You know, after oatmeal cookies, green apples, and, of course, hot chocolate.

So...I hope you enjoy!

**Lila Callbrooke****, 17 ~ District 2 Female**

**wjjmwmsn5**

When I cross the carpeted hallway to the threshold of the pristine District 2 apartment, I involuntarily heave out a heavy breath. Today was ruthless with all my allies, and I realize that it has really taken its toll on me, and I'm actually tired and ready to sleep. But what with all the irritability coursing through my veins like adrenaline due to annoying people such as Dominic, Dominic, Dominic, Gleam, Gleam, Dominic, Gleam, and Blye, I don't think I could sleep. Especially since one of my allies died today, before the Games even started.

Alison was running through the Gauntlet. Dominic had annoyed the hell out of me, so I was too on-edge to stay in line with them for the obstacle course and threw my darts, trying to do something calming. And usually, throwing my razor-sharps would do it, but today I couldn't stop thinking of Gina and Swift, my friends. And Zee, Trais, and Alex, my brothers. And my parents. And all the jumbled-up mess I call my life back home. I kind of drifted off into space for a long while.

And then I heard screams and yells.

I turned around immediately, not sure what to expect, and even if I had expected something it wouldn't have been what I saw. I saw Alison on the ground, Peacekeepers and tributes flocking her, and a doctor that must have been on the sidelines, out of sight of tributes, looking for a pulse. I did not see her chest heave for air or move even slightly, but I just thought that it was because I was far away.

And then the doctor announced some fuzzy words that I couldn't comprehend because I was so in shock. It was something like, "She's not breathing and has no pulse. She's dead."

"Can we get her to a hospital—?" a Peacekeeper started.

"No," said the doctor. "It's too late."

Or something. Maybe that's just what my confused brain put in my eyes and ears. But when a Gamemaker said that another tribute would be here by tomorrow to replace Alison…I know I didn't mistake that. It's all so weird. How could she have died falling from the Gauntlet? Well, I guess it's possible…but still, it's weird. And no one really saw the whole thing that I know of.

"Are you all right?"

I blink, stunned that he just asked me that, if he did. I'm really out in the distance and trying to piece together the words and what happened when Alison died. That really caught me off guard. I guess this isn't total-lockdown stunning, to where I go limp or stiff—God forbid that ever happens in the next three weeks or so—but still, who'd have guessed Dominic Parraldi would even care about me?

I sound like an idiot with a big crush.

"What? Oh. Why do you care?" I get out.

He shrugs simply. "What, I can't be concerned about my district partner?"

I roll my eyes, unimpressed and not believing him one bit. "The most you've ever been concerned with me is to criticize me, annoy me, or flirt with me." I pause, thinking if I should actually tell Dominic. From what I know about him, and I have been known to exaggerate, he takes a lot of stuff the wrong way…the inappropriate way. But I mentally sigh and say, "And Alison, all right?"

He shrugs again. His shoulders are so broad. I try not to furrow my eyebrows at the thought, and look up at his brown eyes. Then look down again as he says, "Hey, you and I are partners. Whether you like it or not. And if we want to make it far, we've got to stick together."

I look up, kind of surprised. I never thought he would want to go far with me. I mean, he still might not. It's all a ploy, something he's conjured in that playboy head of his. He doesn't like me. He likes that maybe, to him, I seem easy. I could be an easy girl to get in bed with or something. Well, one day, maybe soon, I'll play his little game and mess him up, see how he likes it.

"Well, we're both Careers." I go to the sitting room quietly, and sit on the couch.

"I'll be back in a minute," I hear him say behind me.

I shrug and nod, not turning back to look at him. I hear him pad down to his room.

As I'm about to turn on the TV, I realize how empty it is in this part of the apartment, and how open and wide it is, too. I stand and stretch for a second, and then walk over to the window overlooking a bustling city street. Capitol people bounce around, walking into restaurants, bookstores, clothing stores, antique shops - and not once do they come back empty-handed. That's going to be me today—kind of. Rich, able to afford anything.

Then I head to my room, just to look through it; I haven't gotten a good chance yet, staying in the sitting room late last night, and then immediately crashing. I look out the little window and see the exact same scene happening down below. And then I look to see what's all in my dresser drawers. That's when I realize that the shower is going over by Dominic's room, and I think I hear singing. I smile. He's not terrible, though his voice is muffled. After a moment, I recognize the song—it was just a matter of time; it's one of my favorites, and I really like music anyway. I start to hum along as I find clothing that I'd never wear, that I'd die to wear, and that I can't wait to wear.

I hear the shower and singing stop, and head back to the sitting room. I look around for a remote to the radio, suddenly inspired by Dominic's small stunt and wanting to hear a little more. Music inspires me and cheers me up. (But I'm not fanatic about it like those in District 11.) I give up and sit down as the slightly wet-haired district partner of mine enters the room. I bite my lip, and grab the TV remote and turn on the big widescreen Capitol television. It turns on to some Capitol soap opera. I groan when I see that—groaning, being completely unfazed…yeah, I'm good—and flip through the channels. Finally, I stop on another chariots recap.

"What are you looking for?" my 'companion' pipes up.

"This," I admit. "Something with us on it." _Us._ I chuckle inside my head. _Like that's ever going to be said again._

"Why?" he asks.

_Because!_ I want to say. "Because everything else is a bunch of Capitol crap," I do say. It's like I'm two different people, fighting to say this and that. The Lila screaming "Because!" viciously is the girl who wants to get in _his_ head, mess _him_ up, and then end up mercilessly killing him. The girl talking about TV crap is the girl who doesn't care, who wants to get through this, who really notices how broad his shoulders are…

Neither of them are the real Lila. Call back later for her. She had these two take her place. You know, feeling extra lazy and all.

He laughs. "That I can agree with. Especially the soap operas."

"The invention of those things was the biggest gaffe of mankind." You know, except for Lila Number One giving these two girls reign for the day. I ought to give Lila Number One a stern chitchat. After I go insane.

I roll my eyes, hoping I don't seem distracted, and fixate on District 2's chariot. The amount of Capitol girls screaming at Dominic is overwhelming. I don't know how I didn't see that yesterday. And suddenly, I really want to turn the TV off and go eat. Eating sounds good. Eating sounds great. Watching girls flock over my district partner? Not so great. I mean, after all, that's just that much less favor when I kill him next week.

There is Lila Number Three, dwindling down as Lila Number Two threatens to kill her crush! Where is Lila Number One? Why, she's dropped off the face of Panem!

My mind flutters this way and that. I hope I don't look confused. I probably do. I really just want to fall on my bed, and then curl under the covers as Mom strokes my hair and promises me that fate will make everything better – one day when I reach my destiny, all will be okay. Like she did when I wasn't doing well in training, or when I had to break up with my first real, real boyfriend because of training.

I wish I was like a normal Career and didn't care about anything, and everything went super smooth, and everyone fell at my feet, and everything was ideally amazing. I wish I lived like Dominic. So much of a perfect Career (I could take him down), with the time for a love life too (he'll regret not training and hanging out with ladies when he battles me), and all-around ready for anything—except me.

Um, hello – Lila Number One? Your clones are worrying me.

Then, he _puts his arm around my shoulder_. And Lila Number One comes back for the fun, right _then_. What _impeccable _timing.

My eyes widen for a second.

I'm not sure what to do next. It's not like when I had my first real, real boyfriend, and all we did was hang out and kiss once or twice and talk about stuff, when I was fifteen or something. Because I should face it: I've always been afraid of love, of falling into it, of being dragged into it. I want no super romantic things to happen, because they terrify me and make me oh-so-nervous.

But Lila Number One is sarcastic and not a love-struck idiot, or a bloodthirsty…idiot.

So I think, _And here you are, hanging out with the biggest playboy of all time._

I look up at him. As soon as I do, I feel small. I feel really small. I look back at the screen quickly. I don't dare even breathe that much, just slightly inhaling and exhaling, though it's certainly not enough air for this stress-and-confusion-fused adrenaline – so I begin to feel lightheaded. And dinner sounds really, _really_ great.

"When _is_ dinner?" I get out.

He moves his head in closer. In a seductive tone, he whispers in my ear, his breath tickly, "6:45. And we have about thirty minutes until then. Enough time to do other things…" He trails off.

And I'm thinking, _What? Oh, God._

"God, why does it usually always go there, Dominic?" I say quietly. I don't move away. I'm thinking too hard to move away. Right now, I really hate him. I really hate him for bringing _this_ up again, and for thinking it could work, and for playing me. It's all a play. It's all a play. Is it all a play? It's all a play. I have to tell myself this. Because it's true. It really is. It's true.

I'm just so convincing, even to myself.

He chuckles a little. "As much as I would love to have a little fun right now." He takes the remote away from me and switches off the TV. _Oh no, oh no, oh no._ "We have things we need to talk about first." _Thank you, thank you, thank you._

Though I'm honestly afraid of what he'll say, I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Like what?"

_Us,_ is what I expect him to say. Because, see, there is that word again.

"We need to decide right now if we're going to stick it until the end or not. Are we going to the final two as partners?"

"I thought we would. I don't know. If you want me to kill you," I say, with viciousness and a slight grin.

He raises an eyebrow cockily. "And who says that you're going to kill me?"

I don't drop my grin. "Every ounce of fate and destiny in the world. And me. I do."

Dominic whispers in my ear. "I think fate made a deal with both of us, and only plans on keeping one."

I suddenly feel like my token, the "FAITH" bracelet on my wrist, weighs eight thousand pounds, much like this complicated, ever-changing conversation.

"And we should both know which it'll keep," I croak-whisper.

What if that really is true? What if every single thing that is supported with fate in my life, everything I've kept faith in, with my doubts and worries, has all been a lie as fate carries out its deal with Dominic, not me? What if it's all been a ploy? What if I were just put down here on Earth to accompany his struggles and be his district partner and…just another player to defeat in his Hunger Games?

What if fate's not actually on my side, and I am – ultimately – going to die? What if I were just...born to die?

"Fate is a nasty weasel when it wants to be. We'll have to see what happens," he says, interrupting my scared thoughts.

"Yeah." I am going to die. "Um, what time is it now?"

He grins. "Why you in a rush?" Am I going to die? "The Capitol has plenty of food. Heck, they have enough to probably feed all of Panem and still have plenty to spare." I'm going to die. "I don't think it's going anywhere."

I'm not going to die. What am I thinking?

I blink once I realize he said something. Off in space, _again_.

"Okay. Never mind. What now, then...?" I ask, not really paying attention to my words. If I were, I would know where that sentence would land me.

He shrugs with a perfectly Dominic-esque "Depends," to which I groan and sigh, because I should've seen that coming. Not to self: Do not go off in space when talking to Dominic and he wants to mess with you...

Never go off into space with Dominic.

"You haven't had the best sex life, have you?" Dominic asks, taking me off-guard.

I am about to say, "Ummm…" But I don't. So instead, I get out, "I don't have one, period, and never have." Though it doesn't have the _shut-up-about-this-now_ type of way about it that I intended, nor does it have a cutting, slicing, burning tone to it, it's not a croak, squeak, or nothing. It's better than giving him the satisfaction of rendering me speechless. It's more of my normal and not _I-kill-you_ voice.

His eyebrows furrow in surprise. I thought it was obvious to him. A devilish grin appears, almost getting me to groan again. "Really?" Then he leans in and his mouth is at my ear, not my mouth, thank God. His breath tickles me again. "A girl like you? Why do I find that hard to believe?"

I try really hard and successfully to make sure my eyes don't widen again. I want to be on top and ready during one of these situations, or at least not the little squashed ant; I'll settle with being even. I would _love_ to be on top, I really would, but settling for what I am is all I _could_ do. And I can't even do that now. That's all ruined as soon as the first uneven breath leaves my lips. I almost groan again.

"Yes, really. Y-you find it hard to believe...because you are...Dominic...and you wish you could change that. Isn't that right?" It's amazing that I've gotten it all out. But I still grin.

He shrugs. _What's with him and shrugging tonight?_ "Sure, why not? I bet you would enjoy it."

I freeze, scared. If I back out, that will be awful and _humiliating_. I'll never hear the end, even after he dies. Because he'll say it on live television, and then when—if—I win, more people will mess with me about it. _My brothers_ will mess with me about it, every day, always.

But I like to think that I can be pretty well known for my wit.

"Okay, Pretty Boy. L...let's." Except for now.

Now it's Dominic's turn to be surprised. His eyes widen and his eyebrows lift, but he manages to keep his jaw squared. "You're pulling my leg, aren't you?" He's a lot better at this than I am.

I smirk. _Now_ I am playing his game. _Now_ I have a little of a headstart. I'm running as he comes and tries to smash me, but I'm too far ahead – though it still frightens me, because I know he'll go all the way through, and I can't back out. I'll desperately want to, but I can't. God, at the rate I'm going, and the rate he seems to live on, I'll lose my virginity tonight. "You tell me. I wouldn't know, now would I?"

"I guess it's about time to find out, then."

Before I can say anything, before anyone in the world can say a thing, he…kisses me. And the weird thing is, I kiss him back. I kiss Dominic Parraldi, the idiot that plays mind games with me all the time so he can get me in bed, the playboy of the world, the jackass that I am going to have to kill. I kiss him, that guy. And it feels…it doesn't feel like anything at first, because I can't believe it. At all.

We stop for a second. I bite my lip. He looks at me. I stare up at those eyes of his. And I melt – I melt under the couch, and I hide inside as I melt. But then he kisses me again and I come right back out.

And I kiss him back, again. This time I'm not scared. This time, I don't care about anything getting in the way of my destiny. This time, I just relax and throw away all the shit that my parents fed me about love to make me scared, to make me hesitant, all so I could win the Games. It leaves my body, my mind, my heart, and even though it's just temporary, I soak up that little bit of heaven and kiss Dominic Parraldi back.

As I think about how it feels, I find that…for a moment, anyway, it feels…almost like I want it to happen again, like I want it to be mine, to take it away from other people.

And maybe that's just the insaneness within me talking, but it stays. We don't talk after that.

But just before his shirt comes off, just before anything happens, I end it. It's humiliating, but I end it.

"I think we should go to dinner early," I say as he takes ahold of the hem of his shirt. "Or I should. I'm starving."

I don't wait for a response. I get up and dart to the kitchen. An Avox waits there silently, her eyes closed, but somewhere in me, I wonder if she's laughing her head off because I turned Dominic down.

I order the Avox, "Please, get the mentors, and…um, whatever the escort's name is, and the stylists or whoever's coming in here now. We're ready for dinner."

She nods.

I sit and close my eyes tight. Once everyone's in the room, I open them.

Avoxes fill the table with food.

And throughout dinner, I don't talk or pay attention to _anything_ but my food. The turkey, lathered in a delicious green sauce and a little bit of some sort of chocolaty sauce or filling, is my favorite. Though the vegetable broth with little green jellies on the side is great, too. The salad is great, though dull. It all makes my mouth water.

When dessert comes, I almost don't want to stop eating dinner food. All thoughts of richness and that I may not be able to hold it down falter and then drop like a rock, forgotten in a bottomless abyss. Like I am.

A three-tiered cake is served. The first tier is a fruitcake, the second is ice cream cake, and the third is toffee cheesecake. I try all of it, and it's all so great and rich and sweet...but the cheesecake is by far the best. Then I have a teeny tiny slice of pumpkin pie (no whipped cream), and gulp down my lemonade. All the while, I slightly notice that the people around me are staring, but I don't care.

"Lila, stop," Lexibeth - my mentor - says. She laughs a little. "Stop, or you won't be able to attend training tomorrow, you'll be so sick."

I look at her. "I had only a little bit of some of it." I'm not in the mood to take, follow, or listen to orders. Right now, it would be much appreciated if everyone just did what I wanted.

But, you know, I don't even know what I want right now, so I guess I need to figure it out, before I explode, so people can do that—that being what I want. But it's going to be a little harder when what I need to know if I want might want me and might not. And if he doesn't want me, but I find out I want him, that would suck. But if I decide I don't want him, and he wants me, _that_ would suck.

And I'm not going to ask what I might want wants, because that would awkward, and then he might stop wanting me, and that would not be what I want.

So there you go. _That_, right there, is what I want. Along with my brothers to stop ruining my life and get long, my friends to not be selfish jerks, and for me to win these Hunger Games. And for Gleam to die on the Gauntlet.

But not everyone gets what they want.

* * *

**newbie's A/N: **Okay, so this is my Dinner-and-the-Rest-of-the-Evening-on-your-District-Floor chapter (yes, a very long name). I have to say that this chapter was very enjoyable.

I have to give credit where credit is due: MagnificKCBEE helped me out, a lot. They basically wrote half of it! You see, we wrote this by PMs – like an RP, I guess.

**Arianias Houldon, 12 ~ District 12 Female**

**newbie11**

I glare at Jace from across the table. He has the potatoes. All of the potatoes. "Jace, can I have the potatoes, please?" I ask, lacing it with extra sugar.

"Oh, okay. Just wait a sec'!" Jace says, grabbing the spoon. He piles potatoes on his plate, and then passes the bowl down.

I place the bowl beside my plate. I swiftly take the spoon and put a little on. I frown – something's missing.

"FOOD FIGHT!" I yell. I take the spoon from the potatoes and fling a bit at Flux, knocking his wig off. Flasive laughs and pats me on the back, encouraging me to continue.

"Oh!" Jace yells. "And Arianias gets a point! Flasive, do you remember where we're at?"

"I lost count. But last time I remember, Arianias was winning," Flasive says as she grins at me.

I let out a comical battle screech and launch a pitcher of cream in Flux's direction. The cream splatters all over Flux, staining his new outfit. I laugh. Flux just turns a dark purple. The Avoxes are watching, eyes wide in amusement.

_You're welcome, my deprived Avox friends. You need enjoyment too._

"Flux! Are you going to stand this?! You have to fight back!" Jace says in between breaths, as he tries to control his laughter. Flux looks like he's going to burst with anger.

Flux finally gives a high-pitched squeal and joins in. He even gets a potato onto Flasive, who pretty much scoops it off and throws it back at him.

I scoop up more potatoes and throw them directly at Jace's face. "That's for hogging the potatoes!"

"Oh, it's on!" Jace grabs the pitcher of fruit punch. He throws it at me, and smirks when it hits my white shirt.

I gape for a moment, and then happily return the favor; I throw pickle after pickle, letting the fresh juice stain his grey shirt.

"Gross! Why, Arianias, _why_! I hate pickles!" Jace yells dramatically. Then he eyes the vanilla pudding and grins evilly. Suddenly, I remember telling him that I hate vanilla pudding. He leans over the table and dumps the whole bowl on my head.

I stand there, pudding dripping off of me, making me look like a melting ghost. I go over to another table and take some maraschino cherries. "Hey, Jace! This'll be sweet." And I pelt him with the cherries. At the end of the container, I dump the juice on his head.

"_My hair!_" Jace yells. "I will never forgive you for this, Ari!"

"How _dare _you call me Ari? Only my friends call me that!" I throw even more food, and accidentally a spoon (which winds up hitting Flux in the nose). I occasionally yell again, releasing another wave. Somehow, Flux and Flasive get me to calm down and escort me to my room.

I hear the door open slightly, and Jace's head pops in.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Um, yeah. Just, you're splattering maraschino sauce on my carpet." I pause for a moment, and grab a towel. "Here – you might want to fix yourself a little." I toss him the towel, my expression softening slightly.

"Hey, don't blame me for ruining the carpet. You're the one that started the food fight," he says as he wipes himself off. "Although it is the most fun I've had in a while." There's a silent pause as Jace sits on the corner of the bed. "So, what was that? And don't lie and say it's nothing. I have four sisters, and I can tell something's up."

I sigh. "Do you have any ideas about who my family is?"

"Well, you haven't mentioned anything about them," Jace says, confused. (Very readable.) "They aren't, like, murderers or anything, right?"

"No," I say coolly. "My mom's the mayor."

"What...the mayor? Wait – you're a townie? I always thought you were from the Seam; you even have the look. How come I've never seen you with your mom?"

I sigh – time for the confusion-be-gone speech. "Well, haven't you heard of me? At all?" Jace shakes his head. "No? Well, I'm a troublemaker. I go out into the forest and meet my friends, and I've been flogged three times. Why would she want me? I'm an outlaw, I guess." I wait for this to sink in.

"You shouldn't say that. I bet your parents love you," Jace says, looking hopeful.

"Yeah, sure they do. Then why didn't they come to say goodbye?" I ask. "Besides, I look nothing like them. I look like Grandpa of the Seam."

"They didn't say goodbye? That's horrible." Jace says angrily. "I can't even stand to think about not saying goodbye to my family. Of course, I didn't see my dad, but he had a good reason. I wonder what your parents' reason is."

"I'm a criminal, perhaps? I use sarcasm more than they like? I refuse to be a proper lady like...Mother." I have trouble saying that last word.

"No one should be forced to be someone they're not," he says. "Do you miss them?"

"Nope, not at all," I claim grimly. "Why should I? They tried to force me into being the mirror of the perfect daughter. I'm a lot of things, but I'm so not perfect!"

"No one is. Everyone's view of perfection is different. If you can't meet up to anyone's version, why try? Just be yourself and make you happy," Jace says sincerely.

I stare at the floor. "It's not like I really tried before. And breaking the law doesn't help. Though Grandpa loves me." I smile when I speak about my grandfather, as he is my whole world.

Jace laughs. "Breaking the law definitely doesn't help. How is your grandfather? How is he from the Seam?"

"It's a long story, are you sure you want to hear it?" I ask, surprised that someone (other than Nym and Gorda) cares about me so much.

"Of course! I want to know about the man you love so much. I never knew that was possible!"

"Ha-ha, very funny." I roll my eyes. "Anyway: Grandpa was born and bred of the Seam. He was destined to be a miner, which he was for a few years.

Then he met Grandma – she was a merchant's daughter and only child, soon to take over the store. They married, but it took a while for that to happen; there was always that he ranked below her, and all of that. But, they still got to marry.

A few years after, they had a son – my dad. He was their only child. He was going to take over the store and work with Grandpa. But when he became an adult, he refused and went off to have his own store. He failed; it was a great failure too.

That's when he met the recently mayorified Helena, my mom. They got married and eventually had me. They were hoping that I would look like them; that didn't happen. And they hoped I would be a good little girl; I pretty much laugh at that." I take a deep breath. "I get to be myself in those woods. And, that's it."

"Your grandpa sounds like a great man. What about your friends? How are they?" Jace asks, interested in my story.

"Nym and Gorda are really good. We have fun together. Even if our kind of 'fun' is putting on makeshift padding and sword-fighting with sticks. I couldn't bear to ever see them get hurt, which is a big part of the reason why I get so many floggings. It also seems that Mother dearest enjoys the Peacekeepers' job to keep me in line. Nym tends to get scared when I get flogged, so normally she's good for a week, then slowly comes back. But Gorda's there all the way, always there." I try not to let any sobs escape. "I really miss them."

I pull out my locket. I open it for Jace to see. There's Grandpa on the left with his cheeky grin, and Nym and Gorda on the right, armed with their sticks loosely by their sides.

"Hey! I've seen your grandpa. He visited my dad once, after the accident." He takes another look at the locket, and then glances back up at me. "I know it's hard right now. I miss my family and friends like crazy. But they're my reason to fight through this."

I motion to the pictures. "Nym asked me to give the Careers what's coming to them. But, in order to do that, I'll need help."

"Have you made any allies?"

"No, but it's not like anyone's dazzled me yet."

"Have I dazzled you? We can always become allies."

"Well, I suppose you have. You're the only healer I can see." I pause. "Allies?"

"Allies," Jace agrees. "Now you can tell me what you and Flasive have been planning."

I stare at the floor. "Flasive wants us to show off a little – show what we're good at. But that's not the greatest idea. My grandpa used to tell me that when showing off, you show a weakness: arrogance." My cheeks go red. "So far, all I've done is try knife-throwing and poisonous-plants identification. I can't throw knives, and the only plant I can figure out is nightlock. I might do swords or hand-to-hand combat tomorrow – try and follow Flasive. I mean, she's our mentor, she knows what she's doing. Heck, she's my hero! But should I?"

"Well, I think you should try to practice your weaknesses. If you're already good at swords and hand-to-hand combat, you'll be wasting your time. Today, I focused on weapons and combat, 'cause those aren't really my strengths. But I obviously know how to heal and identify plants. I'm also good at running. I was on the track team," Jace says proudly. "And also, we don't want to catch anyone's attention, especially the Careers. If they think we're weak, we won't be their main targets."

"Good point. Thanks, Jace." I playfully punch him in the arm. Jace raises an eyebrow. "It's how I show affection," I explain.

"Remind me not be nice to you," Jace says as he rubs his arm.

"C'mon, it wasn't that hard!" I laugh, realizing he just did the impossible. He made me laugh, and smile. I never do that.

"I think I got a bruise!" Jace whines. "You're lucky you're a girl."

"Yeah, sure, I'm lucky." I wait. "Lucky to be seen as a piece of clay to be molded and shaped. Very lucky."

"Yeah, there's that. But everyone has their troubles. The real reason you're lucky is that you have the most awesome ally!" Jace says, trying to make me laugh again.

I roll my eyes. "Yes, Jace, you're awesome. But so am I." I stick my tongue out at him, feeling happier than ever.

"Well...I'm not to sure about that," Jace says, but screams as I pull my hand back to punch him. He hides behind his arms, and yells, "_Sorry_,_ sorry_! You are the awesomest person I've met, even more awesome than me. But only by a little."

"That's better-" I begin, but Flasive interrupts me.

"What's going on you two? Please don't tell me that you're killing each other already." Flasive sighs.

"Yes, Flasive," Jace says. "I'm killing her by making her laugh to death. Less competition in the Games, right?"

Flasive shakes her head. "So what are you doing, then?"

I just stare at her, a large grin on my face.

"Guess what!" Jace says. "Arianias – drum roll, please!" I pretend to beat drums. "_We're allies_!"

Flasive blinks for a moment, before saying, "That's great. Team District 12 has a nice ring to it." My smile makes her raise an eyebrow, and she leaves quietly.

Jace's stomach growls. I give him a look. "What! You interrupted my dinner. So, does this make us friends? Your name is kinda' long."

"Yeah, okay. Just don't let the others know, then I'll simply have to kill you." I hold out my pinky. "It's a pinky shake, how my friends and I promised that we'd put our friendship first."

"Ugh, you're just like my sister," Jace says, as he attaches his pinky to mine. "Except, she's nicer."

I roll my eyes. "This is better than fighting over some girl! Yes, Jace, I know – Cissa Conder told me. Your first crush."

"Wait, what?!"

"Cissa was Heltal's big sister. My first friend. Heltal got sick and died. It was about a week after. I was seven and really lonely – Nym and Gorda weren't my friends yet, we didn't even know each other. Cissa was really upset, and she told me about you guys fighting over her. I've seen you around the district; you and your buddies tend to prank a lot."

"Aw, you were stalking me. Did someone have little crush?" Jace says.

I raise my arm and punch him in the shoulder, with a lot of anger. "I DON'T HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU!"

"Hey, okay, sorry. You didn't have to punch me," Jace says, lifting up his sleeve to see if there's a bruise. There is. "So you saw me around the district. Have you ever been to the apothecary?"

"The healing place? Oh, yes. Where do you think Nym and Gorda pulled me to every time I was flogged? They knew it hurt, even though I kept saying it didn't."

"I knew I recognized you from somewhere. But I usually worked in the back. And Mr. Everdeen did complain a lot about criminals breaking into the forest."

"Why does everyone have to be so good? I mean, seriously – break the law and be free, have a little fun! I do more than escape; I've ruined a feast for the president when he came, I've fought some Peacekeepers...The list does go on."

"You ruined a feast. . .why?"

"The president's feast. It's the president; he's so cruel and evil. So why not? A little revenge's usually how we welcome important people. Sure, I get scolded by my mother and flogged, but it's all fun. You should have seen what I did to the Head Peacekeeper; it was priceless.

"Hmm, and I thought me and my friends were bad!" Jace exclaims.

"Bad? Pranks are nothing! Compared to a president covered in vanilla pudding and chick peas, pranks are just a silly game!"

"Hmph! You don't know anything about our pranks. They were awesome!"

"Yeah, okay. Awesome versus President Snow covered in pudding and chick peas...I believe I get this win!"

"Fine, fine. But I think mashed potatoes all over Flux was the best!"

"True, true." I get up and give a mock sweeping bow.

"Bravo, bravo!" Jace applauds.

"Thank you, thank y—"

Flux sticks his head through the opening of the door. "It's getting late, you two. Jace should go now." Flux the escort, with the part-time job of being a party pooper. Great title.

"Well, then goodnight...Ari," Jace says slowly, while backing away in case I snap at him again. Even Flux flinches when he says that.

"Goodnight, Jace," I say lightly.


	17. The Falcon

**Alice's A/N:** I want to thank everyone that helped me out with this chapter, my wonderful beta Dances With Vampires, and I also want to thank you for letting me join in late. I know this caused a lot of confusion and chaos.

Without further ado, I give you Aqua of District 4.

* * *

**Aqua Rio****, 17 ~ District 4 Female**

**AliceVictoriaLove**

I awake with a start. Today is the re-reaping. _Fantastic…_

I bury my face into my pillow. I left the window open last night…I quickly sit up to check why there's no sun, and realize that it's still dark. I peer over at my alarm clock, dreading what it will say. It's four in the morning.

"What am I going to do until it's actually time to get ready?" I ask myself, sighing.

The wonderful smell of salt water fills my senses as the ocean breeze flies into the window. I can't help but smile. It slowly fades as I think about how, one way or another, this room won't be mine anymore. At this point, I decide what I will do; I proceed to go through everything in my room.

My room is quite clean and organized, so what I'm planning on doing will mess it up. I start to hesitate, before opening the beautiful treasure chest my uncle gave me for my ninth birthday. I trace the swirly pattern before lifting the lid. Its dark wood is so smooth. I remember running my hands along it when I felt nervous or scared. Somehow this time, I can't seem to settle down by just doing this simple action. A frown forms, but quickly disappears when the chest is opened.

It's full of childhood memories. Old toys, ribbons for awards in school, dust-ridden puzzle boxes, and finally a photo album. I go right for the photo album.

I love pictures. Specifically pictures of landscapes. My grandmother took pictures of the sea; she would go out into the ocean and take pictures of the sunset, or the beach. I love Grandma, and the only things I have left of her are the pictures I saved in this album.

I run my hands over its leathery cover. It has a couple of seashells glued onto it. I remember doing that when I was younger and my grandmother was still alive. Of course, my being a picky little kid, I only picked up about four shells. But they were the prettiest shells I had ever seen. Now they are dusty and have lost their luster.

I open the album after tracing the floral design on its binding. The first picture is of my grandmother holding me. I look to be about two months old. I'm smiling; I guess Grandma got me to laugh. That's the only picture on the front page. I turn the page and find a fuller sleeve than the last one.

This sleeve has five pictures in it. Of my grandmother and me. The first is us walking on the beach at sunset - she's holding my hand; I'm clinging onto her hand for dear life. It must have been when I was first learning how to walk. The picture is beautiful, full of color and life. Sadly, time has taken its toll; its edges are beginning to be stained somehow. I continue to look through those pictures until sunlight floods into my room.

"Aqua!" Mom calls my name through my door. I heard a quiet rapping. "Aqua, are you up?"

"Yes, Mom. I'm up." I put the album away. I managed to look through and study every picture.

"Are you excited?" Mom asks me with a smile. I know that this time it's fake, because her eyes are red. She has been crying.

"I'm going to be okay, Mom. I promise!"

She lets out a sigh and hugs me. "Come on. Re-reaping is in an hour. You need to get ready," she says, playing with my messy black hair. "How do you want it done?"

I stop and think for a moment. "How about we go natural with it?" I'm not wearing anything too special: a white blouse with a black corset over it, and black pinstripe shorts that reach my knees.

My mother nods and lets me go to the bathroom to take a shower and dry my hair. The only thing I do to my hair is brush it; it forms into its natural soft curls. I wear no makeup, simply because I don't need it. I brush my teeth, with twenty minutes until I need to be at the square.

I walk down the stairs and grab a glass of water in the kitchen. I notice, out of the corner of my eye, my younger brother glaring at me from the table. I flash a smile at him, and he huffs and turns the other way.

"Oh, Yorik…I love you." I walk over and give him a hug. He resists at first, but then hugs me back. He whimpers softly.

"Don't do what the girl before you did…please!" he begs.

I think to the girl and the way she died. I know I won't be that stupid. I simply nod and kiss him on the head, before letting go.

My older sister Pearl stomps into the kitchen. She is followed by my father.

"It's not fair! This is my last year! I should go in next!" Pearl complains.

My father sighs and ignores her. He pats me on the head, before giving me a huge hug. "I'm so proud of you, my little mermaid," he whispers.

I relish in him calling me the old name he gave me before I went into training to be a Career. I always believed I was a mermaid; I loved swimming. It's why I keep hoping there will be a big body of water in the arena.

They had to choose a new volunteer to go in last night. I was lucky enough to be the girl they chose. But now it seems as if my excitement is leaving me. However, it doesn't matter, because no one will be able to see it.

I check the time and realize I have fifteen minutes to get to the square. I need to leave now. I don't see my uncle anywhere. Doesn't he know that as soon as I'm chosen, I have to get on a hovercraft and head to the Capitol? I sigh, and continue out the door. I don't let it bother me. My cousin went in three years ago, and she was backstabbed (literally) by another Career; he showed no mercy on her. I won't allow myself to be killed in that way.

I make my way over to the square, and - of course - only girls line up. Raymon Delvas is on the stage with a glass bowl full of sheets of paper. None of which are my name. I fall in line with the Seventeens just in time. I meet eyes with my sister in the Eighteens; she glares, then turns back around. A pang of hatred strikes my heart.

I turn to the front as the mayor began to speak. He reads the same speech every year; I tune out. The first year I stood in the square, I took it to heart; I was so proud to be standing here. I'm still proud, yet my nerves haven't calmed down.

Finally, the mayor introduces Raymon Delvas a second time.

Raymon stands up and walks over to the bowl. He flashes the girls a smile. "Good luck to you all, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" He doesn't have that bad of a Capitol accent. He is an olive-skinned, big-nosed, black-haired, red-eyed man. He is young and new. Like most Capitol people, though, he is rather snobby. I feel like he thinks he's stronger than he is.

He reaches into the bowl, and picks the worst name that could have possibly been called. "Pearl Rio!" I can't help but giggle when she reaches halfway up the stairs.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Raymon asks, as Pearl gets onto the stage.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I call out, desperately trying not to laugh. Her face shows pure rage. Oh my, this is too good. I run up to the stairs. Her arm tenses as she passes me; she was about to punch me.

"What is your name?" Raymon asks me with a charming smile.

"Aqua Rio," I say with another small giggle.

Raymon looks at me inquisitively. "I bet that was your sister." He would have a handsome face if it wasn't for that big nose. I start to wonder what his actual eye color is. Of course the red is contacts.

"Yes, it was." I give the crowd a smug smile. I feel awesome. After her rude remarks, I just want to scream and jump for joy.

"Well, good luck to you, Miss Aqua." He shakes my hand. "Let's give a big round of applause for Aqua Rio!"

My father claps the loudest, and surprisingly even my little brother is standing and clapping. Yet Yorik does not smile. My mother mouths 'I love you', and my sister glares. I still can't see my uncle; it makes me sad that I won't until I come back.

* * *

As quickly as the re-reaping starts, it ends, and I'm hurried to the new model of hovercraft. Its super-speed will get me to the Capitol in less than four hours. It gives the Capitol enough time to take me through the remake process.

"Welcome to The Falcon!" Raymon says proudly, as we mount the ladder and get frozen and lifted into the hovercraft.

I look around and find it rather appealing. It reminds me a sea ship. They probably made this one special for District 4.

As soon as I get on the ship, my prep team ambushes me. I find out that their names are Faustina - who has liquid paper white skin, a large, hot-pink beehive for hair, and what appear to be sparkly pink fairy wings drawn onto her pretty ice-blue eyes; she's almost hideous in my opinion…

Then there's Largo, who is a short, plump man with spiky black hair tipped with fire red; he is almost normal-looking, except for the heavy green eyeliner messing with his beautiful dark brown eyes.

Finally, there's Lileia. She is frighteningly skinny and about as dark as mahogany wood. She has dark blue curly hair that is gelled back. Her eyes are completely white. She is definitely scary-looking.

They whisk me away and strip me of my clothes. I bite my lip the entire time of them waxing my body of all my hair. They fix my eyebrows and make them perfect. Every single follicle. It's simply excruciating. I have to hold back tears at some parts. What's worse is that they're talking the entire time about their Capitol gossip. I don't pay any attention to them. My body still tingles when they are finished, an hour left till we get to the Capitol. I don't get to meet the stylist who will be making my interview outfit yet. I think I'll be alright with that, though. I put my clothes back on, and go to the dining center of the ship.

I smile at the spread they have put out for me. As I sit down, I smell the cooked fish. There is bread directly from District 4 next to the large steamed salmon in the middle of the table. Along with that, they have grilled trout and a Caesar salad. I dig into the salmon, and as I'm getting some of the salad, Raymon walks in and sits with me.

"Try not to eat too much, you're going to the Training Center as soon as you get there. You don't want to throw up in front of the other tributes," he says, a bit too snobby.

I ignore him and continue eating. I make sure not to eat too much, like he said, and drink plenty of water.

* * *

Finally, The Falcon stops at the Capitol and I'm allowed to go to the Training Center. As I enter, I immediately look for tridents. I know I don't need to be messing with them, but I just want to see my selection. I make contact with their shiny metal and a smile hits my face.

I then look for where the other Careers are, and where my district partner is. This is going to be interesting. I really hope a target hasn't been put on my head thanks to that Alison girl.


	18. Training: Day Two

**Blye Ivory, 15 ~ District 1 Female**

**I've got cookies**

"Rise and shine, our beloved tributes," Glitz sings, while she and Wonder open our bedroom doors.

Our rooms are opposite each other; we can sit on the beds and talk.

"Five more minutes. Please," I say, half-sleeping.

"Yeah – that," Gleam mutters.

"No can do. You're already twenty minutes later than yesterday," Wonder says.

"Do you want to be late for training?" Glitz asks.

"Why not?" I ask with my eyes closed.

"Because then the others might find you weak."

"Nah," I reply.

"Or so confident, we don't even need to show up on time. . ." Gleam says.

"Okay. After ten minutes, you both have to be at the dining room," Wonder says in a strict tone.

I doubt that'll happen; I'm extra tired and sleepy today. So is Gleam. We should have listened to Faustina.

But it was worth it.

And it'll probably never happen again.

I mean – if we stopped challenging each other yesterday when Faustina told us to, she wouldn't have started her 'respect others' speech, which cost us some sleeping time. But, as I say, it was worth it.

At first, our challenges were normal – like who can jump farther (Gleam won). Or hold their breath longer (Gleam won). Or blow out a candle from a farther distance (I won).

But then they became plain silly, where I don't even know how we could tell who won – who can turn the light on and off more times in one minute? Or spin and count to a hundred faster? Or spin a fork better?

And of course I can't forget: Who can annoy someone faster? Gleam won by annoying Faustina. And that's how we got our 'respect others' speech.

"Are you waking up?" Gleam asks me.

"Yes," I answer, with a hint of sadness.

We close our doors and get ready for training.

We go to the dining room and eat something.

When we get to the elevator, it's empty. So we will be there first, last, or it's just that no one likes this one.

Yeah, I was right – no one likes this one. When we get out of the elevator, we see Lila, Dominic, and Nolan in another, only now coming down.

"Oh, joy," I mumble.

"Our new friends," Gleam says with mock-sincerity.

We wait for them three, and then enter the gym.

Without much thinking, we all head to weapons. Gleam goes to archery, I go to knife throwing, Dominic heads to swordfighting, and Lila follows him. And I don't care much where Nolan went. Spear throwing, maybe. Whatever.

The girl at archery is pretty good. I wonder where she learned that; only we could know it.

I'm first in line for knives. I wait for a target to appear, and swing back and throw.

Targets start to appear faster, and I hit them all precisely. I always knew I was awesome.

Well, this is getting boring fast. I am so going to spear throwing.

...

I throw a spear a little bit to the left of the target's center. Few inches – one, maybe.

I take the next spear.

A boy obviously smaller than me takes a spear and tries to throw it. The thing doesn't even get halfway.

I throw my spear a few inches from the center again, and look at him.

"Hey, you," I call harshly. "You're doing it all wrong – why even bother?"

"Uh. . .I, ah. . ." He's stuttering.

"What's the matter?" I glare at him. "No one ever taught you how to speak?"

"Obviously someone taught _you_, or you wouldn't be running your big mouth," he retorts indifferently.

Gleam stops what he's doing at archery to watch, narrowing his eyes.

The boy continues. "Is everything okay? Or is your face just stuck in that ugly frown from all the plastic surgery and makeup?"

I feel myself filling with anger. But it seems that as I get angrier, he gets more relaxed. As if he enjoys it.

"What did you say?" I ask in disbelief. He thinks that he can talk to me like that. Well, he thinks wrong.

He looks more sure of himself than ever. "I'm saying that you're. A. Little. Fake."

"Oh, you better take that back, you little brat!"

"Psh. Please," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "If I'm going to be nice to anyone, it certainly won't be a Career."

"Well, you should be nice to everyone." I take him by his arms with one smooth move, and force them behind his back. "And certainly to us Careers. Understand?" I trip him so he falls to the ground. But I do it carefully, so no one hears the thud.

He tries to get up, but I put my knee on his back and don't let him.

From the corner of my eye, I see Gleam smile as I gain the upper hand. He goes back to what he was doing before.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" he says with mock-innocence. "But I don't need your advice, Mom. Maybe you should practice what you preach, little prick."

I tighten my grip on his arms and repeat, "_Understand_?"

"Don't make me get the Peacekeepers, Bland. Or whatever your name is," he mutters.

"You think you would even get that far?" I pause to tighten my grip even more, so that he will start to feel pain. "Do you understand me?"

"Yeah, Bland. That _is_ your name, right? Suits you." He pauses. "What's gonna' happen when all your food runs out, Princess? Never been hungry?" he asks mockingly.

Gleam comes over from across the gym, still carrying the bow. "C'mon, Blye, let the poor kid go – before you get kicked out."

I let him go as Gleam told me to. "Oh, shut it, you weed. I'm watching you." I turn to Gleam. "You know, it suits him."

Gleam looks over the tall, skinny boy, and nods. "It does."

...

I put my spear down, and head past Gleam and the swordfighting section to archery.

The gym's doors open, and someone I can't recognize comes in.

"Who's that?" I ask Gleam.

He's not even ready to answer when Lila pops in – "That's probably the new girl from District Four."

Gah! Who asked you?

Anyways, I nod and head towards archery.

I take a bow and arrows, and shoot a few times. Gleam does this way better than I do. Okay, I'm not that horrible, but I hit the bull's-eye once or twice. Not Gleam – all the time. Mostly, I hit the targets a few inches away.

I think that I will be here longer than the other places in the gym. I need to practise this stuff.

I'm here for at least half an hour. My aim is a bit better; I just need to practise more. I put the bow and arrows down and head to the swords, when the lunch bell rings.

It's about time.

* * *

**Aqua Rio****, 17 ~ District 4 Female**

**AliceVictoriaLove**

I find my district partner, Nolan Nixe, at the camouflage station. I decide I might as well introduce myself. I slip through the crowd of tributes. It's, of course, the second day of training – so after I introduce myself, I need to start.

As I walk up, he takes very little notice of me. I watch as he works at the station, learning while waiting for a good time to talk.

I find my opening.

"Hi, my name is Aqua. I'm your new district partner." I smile, extending my hand for him to shake.

He doesn't take his eyes off of what he's doing; he just continues to braid his ghillie suit. I start to get a bit frustrated at him for ignoring me.

"Can you tell me something about yourself, and I'll share something in return?" I try again.

He continues braiding. I frown. This is pushing my last nerve. I may ignore people, but I only do that when they're being rude. I am in no way being rude to him.

"What's your problem?!"

That finally gets his attention. He stares at me coldly. I feel a shiver go down my spine.

"Now listen closely, sweetheart," he says. "I'm only in this for one thing, and that's me. So keep your self-righteousness to yourself."

I shake my head and walk away. I don't have to put up with that. And if he doesn't want to talk to me, then fine.

I storm to the nearest weapon station, and it happens to be swords. Gleam – the boy from District 1 – is there, sparring with an assistant. Since I know long-range pretty well, I might as well try short-range weapons.

I take a short sword off the rack and feel its weight. It doesn't seem too bad. I give it a couple of swings and jabs before calling an assistant over to spar.

Surprisingly, I move swift and graceful. I just picked up the weapon, and I've already learned how to effectively parry and counterattack. I didn't think my intelligence would carry over to fighting. However, I don't bother to question it, considering I would lose focus on the battle.

I parry the assistant's attack and send him to the ground. I push my blade to his neck, and quickly ram my knee down on the arm that holds the sword, rendering it unable to do damage; I clench my teeth at the blow, considering I landed the wrong way. The assistant calls it off, and I take a break, nursing my bruised knee. I'll be fine; I just need to not move it for a moment. I notice Gleam watching me. I shake it off, and wipe off the minimal amount of sweat on my forehead.

After I recover, I make my way over to the sword selection. I take my time in choosing my next blade. I decide I will show Gleam something to be scared of. I pick up a longsword and call over another assistant. I smile.

I get into a defensive stance and beckon the assistant with my index finger. He runs at me, and I begin to fight in a sort of fencing way. My movements are much more graceful and precise than before. My accuracy is remarkable. The stance I'm in makes sure I will not be knocked over easily. My fighting style is a mixture of water elemental and earth elemental: graceful and swift as water, and steady and strong as earth.

"You know, the trident station is over there if you were looking for it," Gleam says. He had put his sword back up on the rack and approached me.

I flick my hand at the assistant to tell him back off, and he obeys. I fixate my stunning teal eyes on Gleam. "Oh, I didn't notice," I say bitterly.

I instantly regret it. This is one of the people I'm going to be spending most of my time with. Oh well...I can't let him see any weakness, or else he'll paint a target on my head.

I put my sword back on the rack.

"Let me guess," he continues seriously. "You took up swords because you wanted to be different. To stand out."

I turn to look at him calmly, but with annoyance in my eyes that is obviously not directed at him. "Well, I wanted to try other things. For all I know, the weapon I want could not be in the arena. Then what will I do? Go weaponless? No way. I'd be dead in a heartbeat, and I bet you would be the one to kill me," I explain, smiling.

Gleam smiles in amusement. "Smart move. Although I can't remember a Games where there hasn't at least been a spear. You're really good at it, though." He nods slightly toward my weapons.

A small blush shows on my tan cheeks. "Thanks. You're not too bad yourself," I compliment him, trying to brush off that my face is getting hot. "Did you plan to come in and intimidate everyone with your best skill?" I ask sincerely.

Gleam smirks. "I figure it's only fair to warn them."

I give him an admiring smile. "So you're going for fair? Well, at least you're not like most Careers. I'm not either, though; I'm not going to show anyone my greatest skill yet. Just in case my weapon gets taken." I wink.

"Well, good luck," he says, smiling and walking away. "And may the odds be ever in my favor."

"You're going to need it!" I call out smugly.

"We'll see!"

At this moment, I decide that I will ignore Gleam for the rest of these Games – he seems like the type of person I won't get along with. I sigh and shake my head at his cockiness.

I go over to the knot-tying station – when we all get told that it's time for lunch. I sit next to the Careers. I listen to their conversations; I don't pay too much attention. I'm planning which stations I'll go to next.

"How...has...training been...lately?" Lila says, trying to break the awkward silence surrounding the table.

"Well...if you trained with us...you'd know." Gleam grins, obviously trying to get on her nerves.

"I only walk away towards the end, Gleam, when I decide I utterly can't stand your idiocy anymore," Lila retorts.

"If you're jealous, Lila, just say so – I'll understand," Gleam responds. I don't understand what their game is, but it's kind of stupid.

I can't respond to him, though, because I'm ignoring him.

"Ha," Lila scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Of what – you? No, believe me."

"'Believe me', she says. And yet, in spite of this flawless argument...my skepticism won't go away," Gleam mocks her.

"Ha-ha. If I were jealous of anyone here, it'd be everyone that didn't have to deal with you," Lila says. I shoot a look at her, wondering if she means me or not.

"And who would that be?" Gleam asks her, with casual interest.

"Um, I just told you: Everyone who didn't have to deal with you," Lila responds in a matter-of-fact tone, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, there's you five, and you're obviously stuck with me for a while. And then" – Gleam begins looking at all the other districts' tables – "there's the other tributes, who will either be killed by me, running from me, or shuddering in fear at the sound of my name. I'm not sure who else is left."

"You can't terrify everyone, or kill everyone, or run into _everyone_. There is going to be someone who isn't scared of you, and who you'll never face. Just ask around." Lila smirks.

"Oh, no, they'll all be scared of me; they can act brave, but that's all it is – an act. Whether or not I run into them is another matter," Gleam says, with a sort of dark tone that I'm not sure anyone else picked up on.

"You know, you aren't real scary. Not really. Barely at all." Lila smiles.

Gleam looks at the other districts again. "Maybe not to you." Why does he continue to challenge her?

"See? You can't scare all. I was just unfortunate enough to be stuck with you. Really. Wait another year until _after_ I win," Lila says.

"I don't know...a year's such a long time," Gleam mocks her.

"I wish that you were four years younger, Gleam, I really do."

"Why is that?"

"It would get you out of my life. Think about it - we would have both been better off not knowing each other."

"Can't argue with that," Gleam replies without hesitation.

Lila narrows her eyes, and then cocks her head to the side and rolls them, still narrowed. Gleam rolls his eyes mockingly.

"Anyone else want to speak, _before_ I go insane?" Lila says.

"Before?" Gleam inquires.

"_Anyone_? I'd be happy with _anyone else_ saying something, except him," Lila says, looking at the rest of us.

"I'm telling you, it's no use - the train has left that district."

"Not following you," Lila says flatly. Gleam laughs silently and shakes his head.

"And you say _she's_ insane," Nolan finally breaks in, mockingly repeating Gleam's last gestures.

Gleam chucks a spoon at him.

"YOW!" Nolan exclaims. He chucks an apple at Gleam, and tosses one to Lila. Gleam catches the apple and sets it aside. "Here – beat him over the head," Nolan says to Lila.

"I don't take orders well," she says.

Dominic says something into her ear that is just barely audible: "Oh, you don't?"

Nolan chucks an apple to the right of Dominic's head. "It was just a suggestion, sweetheart," Nolan teases her.

As the apple passes by Dominic's head, Dominic reaches back and catches it before it can hit the floor. _Impressive_, I think, starting to actually listen to the conversation.

Dominic walks to where Nolan is sitting – on the other side of the table, next to me. I get a little rigid as he moves closer. "Hey, Nolan."

Nolan turns to look at him, and grins deviously.

"Oh, did you like the present I sent you?" Nolan says.

Dominic grins deviously, as well. "Oh yes, definitely. I was actually quite touched."

Nolan's grin grows wider. "Hey, I try."

"You know, I read somewhere that apples are not only good for keeping your body healthy, but your teeth as well. Helps get rid of all that decay," Dominic states. Everyone stares at him. I sort of...look at his face, but not his eyes. "What? I happen to read things from time to time," he defends himself.

"That is honestly fascinating, but where are you-?" Nolan starts, but gets cut off by Dominic shoving an apple in his mouth. This is getting interesting.

As Dominic goes back to his side of the table, he says, "I highly recommend you start eating them more often, Nolan." He sits down by Lila. "If you do that again, I'm liable to rip out each and every one of those teeth myself."

I get a small shiver, thinking about that.

Nolan pulls the apple out of his mouth. I can see the gears in his head turning; he wants to say something smart, but I imagine that his teeth hurt too much. "Damn, them oral hygienists don't know what they're talking about." He looks over to Lila. "You got to learn how to keep your boyfriend under control, sweetheart."

_Wait, what?_

"He's your boyfriend?" I ask, unable to stay silent anymore.

Blye, who has also been quiet, speaks up to Gleam. "When did that happen?"

"Like I would know?" Gleam responds, shrugging and grinning at Lila.

"He isn't my boyfriend," Lila says, glaring.

"Yet," Dominic says. I can't tell if he's serious or not.

Lila just glares and doesn't say anything to Dominic, which I find odd, and instead turns to Nolan. "Don't call me 'sweetheart', sweetheart," she says mildly.

"Mmm, if you insist," Nolan says, grabbing his third steak.

"It's almost creepy how you seem to _always agree with me_, Nolan, sweetheart," Lila says.

"And yet, when I disagree with her, she calls me an idiot. You can't win," Gleam pipes in, shrugging.

"_Oooh_, you're right. Maybe I just don't like fighting with ladies," Nolan says.

Lila takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes. "Gleam, dear: You're naturally idiotic. All the time. It's your nature. Someone has to point it out. Nolan...Nolan: That won't get you far in the Games." She smirks. "Actually, never mind. What an amazing trait to have there."

"And just why do you say that I'm an idiot? You've yet to explain this to me," Gleam replies to her.

I'm starting to hate this Lila girl. All she does is call people idiots.

"There you go! There's your answer for you right there!" Lila says.

_Because that answers so much, _I think. Yeah, it's official. I hate her.

"Oh, I see..." Gleam says, nodding appreciatively.

"It's within you," she says in a mysterious tone. "Embrace it!"

"I have no problem killing girls, but ladies is a different story," Nolan says finally.

"How sweet. Little late on the response there, though," Lila says in a sour tone.

"I wanted to see where Gleam and you were going with that," Nolan responds.

Lila nods, unconvinced.

"Well, no worries, I don't think you'll find any of those here," Gleam says to Nolan.

"Oh, _ha-ha_. Laugh it up when I kill you, _idiot_," Lila retorts.

"That line's getting a bit old, you might want to find a new one," Gleam says to her. I almost laugh, and then I remember that I'm ignoring him.

"It's my line, and I don't take-" Lila stops and restarts. "That's my line, and you don't tell me what to do."

"Okay..." Gleam turns to Dominic. "Tell her to find a new line."

Dominic nods, then turns to Lila. "I will not lie; perhaps you've got to get a new line."

Lila turns to Dominic, narrowing her eyes at him. "Tell him to get a life."

"Plenty of time to get a life after I win," Gleam says to her with a small smile.

"Is that before or after you get treated for being delusional, Gleam?" Nolan asks.

"You have a certain love for annoying me and turning the conversation over to him, huh?" Lila says to Nolan.

"It's no delusion," Gleam says matter-of-factly to Nolan.

Lila nods. "It's a delusion."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Gleam replies.

"So does that mean I can kick your ass if it helps me sleep at night?" Nolan asks him.

"You could. But you wouldn't wake up," Gleam replies calmly.

Dominic shoots a warning glare at both of them.

"I wouldn't want to miss that fight," Blye pops in once again.

I'm fed up with this stupid conversation. I poke at my food with my fork.

"It always seems to be the same thing..." I sigh.

"It does get boring, doesn't it?" Blye says.

"I can't believe it – we're getting boring," Gleam teases, looking over to Nolan.

"We have to come up with new material! Something fresh," Nolan responds, and looks at Dominic, a plotting grin appearing on his face.

"Don't even try it, unless you want to wake up with an axe in your stomach," Dominic warns.

I've had enough.

"You are all insane," I say, meeting eyes with Gleam for a moment. Then I get up and leave quickly.

I go straight to the knot-tying station and start working on a trap. It has to do with nets, of course, since I am of District 4. As I'm playing around with the net, the boy from District 5 approaches me.

"So, you're the new Four girl? Scared of heights? Hopefully you are," he says calmly.

I turn and look up with an unreadable expression. _My God, he's tall!_ "No, I'm not scared of heights, but I'm not going to be on that thing," I say, nodding to the Gauntlet. "My name's Aqua." I smile at him.

"And I'm Lead. You might know me from the reaping." Lead stops working on a snare – a complicated and advanced one to hang someone upside down.

I note his capabilities in my head for the Careers later. My pretty teal eyes sparkle with amusement. "I do," I say to him in a barely noticeable annoyed way. "Nice snare," I remark, studying it.

"Thanks, but this isn't my best work. You've seen the District Five reaping, no?" Lead pauses, and starts to work on his contraption again. "I think this is the first time I've talked to someone that hasn't turned out in a slugfest. That Lila girl...just creepy..."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Of course I did; I wasn't here the first day, we had to watch the recap of them all," I say to him, smiling. _I suppose that was him, then; he probably rigged the equipment somehow, _I think, remembering that there was an explosion. _Even though I didn't get to see his face during the reaping, I saw it in the chariot ride._ I give him a funny look when he mentions Lila. "I only talked to her for a little bit," I admit.

"I suggest not talking to Lila today. She's pissed off at everyone. Almost knifed me, and I almost speared her. I've been here for an hour; I should probably move on. Have you done the medicine station yet?" Lead says. He eyes Lila suspiciously, who strangely is glaring at him.

I smile, and give him a small laugh. "I see. Well, I suppose I'll have to take your word for it. No, I haven't yet; I'll probably do medicine tomorrow." I find myself exploring the stations in my mind.

He nods, and looks around in a sort of bored way. He turns to me and finally says, "Well, nice having a normal conversation with someone who doesn't hate me. I have some...things I need to look for. So, bye." And with that, he starts to walk away.

"It was indeed nice. Good luck with...whatever you're going to do. Bye," I say to him, back to focusing on my net.

Finally, I get tired of my net and drop it; I've spent enough time here, I need to move on to something else.

As I leave the station, the Gauntlet catches my eye. I remember my little brother begging me not to do what _she_ did. I smile at the thought of him. I smile even wider, imagining the proud look on my father's face when I come back home and tell him of my great feat.

I calmly make my way to the Gauntlet. Ever since the accident, not a lot of tributes have been hanging around that contraption. I smirk as one of the outliers gets brave and readies herself to go through with it. I jog over, seeing heads turn. I can't help but smile.

The girl tribute takes one look at me, realizes who I am, and widens her eyes. I smirk. She's so surprised to see me. Well, it doesn't matter. I'm not afraid of this stupid thing. I'll show everyone that I'm better than the girl before me!

I wait for the signal to go, crouching into a sprinting position. I make eye contact with the trainer to let him know I'm ready. He blows a whistle, and I take off.

I feel myself gain speed as I run to the first platform; it's low enough to step on with ease. Gravity thrusts me toward the ground as the platform rises quickly. I see the next platform, moving up and down. My platform moves up and down as well. I can't overanalyze! I need to move, now!

I collect enough strength and wait for the right time. Finally, I see my mark and fling myself to the next platform.

I smile as I land perfectly, but instantly stop smiling as I duck a padded club. I snarl at the trainer who tried to hit me. I look ahead. If I stay here long enough, I can predict when to run to make a straight shot to the top platform. I decide to wait. As the outlier struggles, I calculate while dodging the same damn trainer, who now looks at me with confusion. There!

I find my opening and sprint, ducking under padded clubs, jumping to platforms. I'm only two away from the top when I get knocked backwards. I didn't see that club.

I feel myself slipping towards the edge. _No! I will not fall! _I use all my force to stop, just in time. I get up quickly, in fear of falling, and sprint. I duck under the club and wait for the platform to shoot me into the air; as it goes up, I jump and grab onto the ledge of the top platform.

I haul myself up with ease and sit on my knees for a bit. Even with my folly, I made it to the top before the outlier. Taking pride in this, I stand up and raise a fist in the air. I know I look stupid, but I don't care.

I notice the looks I'm getting. Some are appreciative, others hateful, a few admiring, but mostly impressed. The impressed looks are from the Careers. I look to see Gleam's face. I guess I showed him more reasons to be worried about me. I'm still going to ignore him, though.

* * *

**Mega's A/N: **Yes, yes, I have written another chapter! I know you all love hearing from me and Lead!

Now, I've been getting some...odd responses to Lead's character. If you don't like him in any way, PM me, because I won't hurt you at all. I just want some feedback and something to improve on, because that's my goal - to never stop getting better.

**Lead Morrison, 17 ~ District 5 Male**

**Megalor9**

"Nervous? No," I say to the inhuman thing beside me. "I already did training yesterday. It's so easy."

"Yeah right, Lead, you were shaking when we were about to enter yesterday," the creature tells me.

Creature, otherwise known as Nova.

"I was not shaking! I was better off than you were!" I tell Nova. "You're probably still scared that someone will kill you with all those weapons hanging around."

"I'd gladly kill you with one."

"Shut. Up."

"I don't think I will."

In time, the training room doors open with a whoosh of air, and I immediately see some people rush in. Heading for the weapons, no doubt about it. Careers. Training their whole lives for this stinkin' Games; it's really unfair to the rest of us. Another reason that I'm fifty percent sure that I won't make it out alive. But that's in a couple of days. No need to worry about my death now.

I see Nova obviously heading for the archery station. So she can show off her 'crazy' crossbow skills. Where do we learn crossbows in 5? Nowhere.

I start to wonder what I should do. Seeing as I'm not good at any weapons, and I'm not going to make a bomb in front of the other tributes, I reckon a weapon might be a good thing to learn. Then I might stand a better chance.

I see plenty of people go for swords and knives, as those are some of the common weapons. Let's try...um...let's try using a spear. Start simple. And you can make spears out of almost anything - a sharp rock and a stick at its essence.

I immediately get the feel of the weapon. The trainer eyes me weirdly; he must look at the District 5 tributes like that, seeing as there was the explosion...

I smile at the thought that it's caused some Capitol panic. Good.

The spear-throwing, it's pretty simple. Take a running start, throw the spear as you stop, and the momentum should make it go fast at your target. On my first try, I hit the target. Right in the outer rim. But it's a lot better than my sad attempt at archery yesterday...I nearly shot the trainer with a crossbow, and missed the target every single time.

I'm guessing an hour, maybe an hour and a half. I've got steady arms and near-perfect aim now. Hitting the target every single time, I miss the center ring one out of five.

"Well, it seems like you've got this one under control. Want to try something like sword fighting, or knife-throwing? With your aim, you should be good with knives," the trainer says to me, after I hit the bulls-eye three times in a row. Then he whispers, "I know the guy over on the knife station. Tell him that Jeremiah sent you, and he won't be too hard on you."

"Oh...okay...I'll think about it," I tell him. Honestly, everyone goes after the knives for some reason.

I'm turning away from the trainer when I see someone staring at me. One of the short ones. Outer district kid?

No, it's that stalker. The stalker from 2, who's been eyeing me since Day 1. What was her name again? Lily...Talia...I don't even remember. But it's really creeping me out. Seriously.

So I need to put a stop to it, then. I start walking towards the girl, Lily-something-or-other, who is currently on her way of heading towards...the spear station.

"Hey!" I call to her. That gets a head turn from the Lily girl - she looks at me. I approach her. "Why've you been following me?" I ask, with a note of accusal.

"None of your _damn _business, is it, District Five?" Lily snaps at me.

My face turns into a frown. Who knew she was harsh? Oh, wait, it's just in my stereotype of Careers; they are all self-righteous I-Am-the-Center-of-the-World people. "Watch your tone, sweetheart," I shoot back, taunting her.

"You..." Lily searches for a word to say. "Complete idiot, don't get on my bad side." The sentence has a feeling of automatic-ness, like she's used it a million times before. Of course. Everyone is an idiot in her mind.

"And why not? And is 'idiot' really the best insult you can come up with?" I taunt even more. Maybe she'll explode and die like that District 4 girl. Then I won't have to put up with her anymore.

"Show some preservation and shut up, will you? I'm not afraid of you. And 'idiot' is not the best thing I can come up with; I just don't want to use words that are too harsh for you, you know?" Lily-something-or-the-other says with a sweet smile.

Who is this bi-polar person?

"I think you've already seen what I'm capable of, girl. We should save this fighting for the Games. But I'm fine with here and now, if you wish to," I say as I walk over, grab a spear, and hit the shaft against my left hand. I then twirl it around, trying to intimidate her.

How could she not be intimidated? I'm a freakin' whole foot taller than her.

"Now is perfect for me," Lily says, a little too sweetly for my taste. I watch her arm move back a bit. She's holding a knife in her right hand; she's been hiding it behind her back. Did she mean to come up and fight me, then?

"Fine then, have it your way," I say, gripping my spear tighter. I'm not the best at hand-to-hand combat. I've only been in a few brawls and fist-fights at school in 5. Not anything like the Careers train, with weapons and all.

Lily starts to move her knife toward my left arm - when something stops it. I realize that I'm retreating, taking a step back. And wondering why I'm not covered in cuts right now. It's Jeremiah. The Capitol spear trainer. Thank goodness.

"Hey, save the fighting for the Games, Lila," he tells her. I give Lila a look that says plainly, 'Told you so.' "We don't need you beating up one of my favorite pupils, now do we?"

Wh-what? I'm his favorite pupil? He actually gets attached to the tributes? This could work to my advantage: I probably just gained myself a sponsor. Maybe, if he spreads the word with all the other Capitol slime bags, I'll get more than one sponsor.

"Have a good day, sweetheart," I tell Lila as I turn my back on her and leave.

Jeremiah is still lecturing her on how they've been given strict orders to make sure no tributes get killed again.

I snicker. They don't want to have yet another reaping, do they? It's pretty late in the Games, it would be hard to change things up now.

What next, though?

I'll find a new thing to learn, a new trade to pick up. Medicine.

The medicine station, where we teach you how to heal all your wounds. That sounds like Capitol propaganda there, as in - 'Panem, where you get everything you need!' Except children dying every year.

Tsk. But seriously, I need to learn how to heal wounds. If that girl Lila cuts me up, I'll have to find a way to heal myself, right? Plus, I need to see what chemicals they have. Because I've got a plan to blow up the Gamemakers.

Not blow them up, but something of the nature; I'll create a bomb for them and detonate it right in the Training Center. Won't they just love that?

My eyes dash across the bottles of liquid on the station table, looking for specific names, specific labels. That bottle, that one, this one. I've got it. All the supplies for my private session.

I watch the trainer show off how a bandage is applied, and how you sterilize the wound. If you could get supplies at the Cornucopia, and a bottle of iodine at that. And that's nearly impossible for most of the district kids. The Careers are the tyrants of the Cornucopia, in all of the Games. Anyone tries to get supplies, they get killed.

I make an effort to absorb this stuff - all the stuff about treating burns and whatnot - but it doesn't stick. There's no way in heck I'll be able to remember this in a couple of days, once the Games start. And that surprises me; I have a huge intelligence. Why won't I?

It's like me and edible plants; I'll probably kill myself with a poisonous berry, or something embarrassing like that.

Maybe try something else. I could build a trap. That - that, I'm good at. Bombs and traps go together, sort of; they depend on the elements and the design, all that. All I need is some rope, and I could snare someone in the Games, which is probably the only weapon I'll have.

I walk away from medicine, heading off towards the knot-tying area - when a bell rings. Lunch. Did two hours really go by that fast?

So my current course is altered; I'm now headed to the lunch tables. I'm famished. I skipped breakfast, because I stayed up so late - nervous, almost - and then slept like a log, way too late for Shilo to be comfortable with. I mean, the escort, Nero, he's cool with the schedule. Flexible. My kind of guy.

But lunch allows me to eat like a total pig, because I can get anything I want from the Capitol menu. So naturally, I try everything. Well, maybe not everything, but most of it.

I watch the patterns of where people are sitting, because that means we've probably got an alliance going on. I need to know who's a team and who isn't.

Of course, my plan has been to score an alliance with someone who can get food and patch wounds. Even though all the good stuff is at the Cornucopia, impossible to get. My alternative plan (which I've been thinking over several times in my head) is that I could get into the Career pack. They sometimes let people from other districts join in. I have enough skill and greatness to do it. So why not?

All I'd need is a good training score, and to be kind of buddy-buddy with the Careers. So that means sitting near them, and following all of their orders.

I sit down with a plate packed with food, and immediately dig into a piece of steak. Steak is sort of a rarity in 5. Almost everything is a rarity. I can remember one of the richer girls bragging at school about having steak for breakfast. That was like, a social status mark. Or something like it.

My ear turns towards the Career pack, and I start eavesdropping. Maybe I can pick up something about their plans. Maybe learn a bit more about them, then try to approach them and ask to join their alliance. But it occurs to me that dumb Careers who only care about brawn make no plans at all; all I hear is mindless arguing, lots of shouting. I'm betting 100% that Lila is involved somehow.

So I finish my lunch as quick as I can. While most people are eating, the ones without allies, the wanderers, make it back out onto the training room floor to begin the afternoon session. Then it's dinner. Then tomorrow, we get to do private sessions. This is way too fast for five-or-so days.

The knot-tying trainer is ignorant, not paying attention to anything I do. If I tie a knot correctly and show her, she just nods and says, "Uh-huh." And it gets annoying when she pulls out this phone and starts writing on it. That's real focus right there.

But I find a manual and teach myself for the next hour. Reading, manipulating my hands to tie. I learn a few basic snares and one advanced that sends a spear through the trapped person's body, and test them out on a dummy.

I hear voices - the trainer talking to a new trainee. It gets quite annoying, hearing all the things I learned in the last hour retold. I try to block it out, but fail to. Eventually, I turn to the person. It's the District 4 girl. The newer version. The one that hasn't died yet.

"So, you're the new Four girl? Scared of heights?" I ask, my hatred for the Careers hidden. I try to keep a smooth voice. "Hopefully you are."

"No, I'm not scared of heights, but I'm not going to be on that thing." The girl nods towards the course that dominates the gym. The Gauntlet. What the other girl, Alison, fell off yesterday. "My name's Aqua," she finishes with a smile.

"And I'm Lead. You might know me from the reaping."

Aqua's eyes sparkle for a moment. "I do. Nice snare," she tells me, looking at the contraption I've built so far.

"Thanks, but this isn't my best work. You've seen the District Five reaping, no?" Maybe I want the Careers to know that I can use the power of explosives. "I think this is the first time I've talked to someone that hasn't turned out in a slugfest. That Lila girl...just creepy," I add.

"Of course I did; I wasn't here the first day, we had to watch the recap of them all," she says, then adds, "I only talked to her for a little bit."

All of a sudden, I notice Lila across the room staring at me. Stalker.

"I suggest not talking to Lila today. She's pissed off at everyone. Almost knifed me, and I almost speared her." Then I think it's time to end this friendly get-together. It might turn into a rope-fight, who knows? "I've been here for an hour; I should probably move on. Have you done the medicine station yet?" I think I am about due for a visit; I don't want to lose my knowledge on that subject yet. Plus, I can escape from Aqua, and maybe try fire-starting.

"I see. Well, I suppose I'll have to take your word for it," Aqua says as she laughs. "No, I haven't yet; I'll probably do medicine tomorrow."

"Well, nice having a normal conversation with someone who doesn't hate me. I have some...things I need to look for. So, bye," I tell her as I walk off. Did I really just get away from a Career that easy?

I quickly do a re-check of the medicine, make sure I don't have anything screwed up. It's a pass-or-fail matter, and if I'm not prepared, I'll probably end up like that 3 guy who really just sucks at everything, or the blind girl. Score-wise, that is. Because other than spears and traps, I can't do much.

My fears on medicine ease, and fire-starting is next. I try making a fire with several different materials, but mainly with flint and steel.

There's a flashlight at the station; I'm not sure what for. I think I can make a fire with it, though. I open the container for batteries, and take the two batteries out. Easy enough. I take one of the rocks used to create a spark and break open the batteries, and spill the juice onto the leaf pile. Then, with a flint, I light it up.

The scream of the trainer is loud enough to hurt my ears. Seriously. "YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT!" I'm laughing all the time during the ranting. Just funny.

Then - a tap on the shoulder. Why me?

"Seriously?" I whip around to the face of Nolan Nixe. "Another Career? How many of you guys do I have to fight in a day?" I don't mean to be harsh, it's just the Career pack appears to be interested in me.

Does that mean I'm a member of it, then?

"Look, I'm representing all the Career pack here. I would like to know if you have any special...skills that you'd like to share," Nolan says in a deep, no-nonsense voice.

_This is...random..._is all I can think. Some buff Career askin' about my skills? I don't think I'll disclose that information.

"Your survival depends on it, kiddo." I find it funny that he calls me 'kiddo'; I'm taller than he is. "This might keep you alive longer in the Games."

I process the words for a bit. Keep me alive longer...as in allies...or if they find me, they won't kill me...or they will kill me, because they're a bunch of liars and idiots...

It's all a long thought process.

I decide on allies.

"Well, I can-" I bend over to whisper in Nolan's ear. Don't want anyone else overhearing or anything. "Create and use explosives."

Nolan nods, like he's been expecting it. "Thank you."

Apart from being randomly cornered by two Careers, I'd call that a success for training.

* * *

**Twilla Applestone, 12 ~ District 8 Female**

**Clara Meliza  
**

The sun has just begun to rise, brightness peeking through the window curtains, my line of vision filled with its unwanted rays. A groan escapes my lips as I burrow my head deeper into my pillow, not wanting to leave the luxury of my temporary bed.

Back home, I'm allowed to sleep until seven o'clock – and no later. Classes begin at eight, and my hours at the factory usually start around the same time. Sometimes I have to be up hours earlier, when the children need to be bathed and Mother is too busy to finish the job herself. I usually see no problem with this, as caring for my siblings is one of my favorite things to do, but something about leaving this wonderful bed causes my joints to scream with protest.

I didn't sleep a wink last night, my mind too preoccupied with things I'd rather not think about, and – I'm not sure why this is – ever since I stepped off that train, my sleeping patterns have been screwed up immensely.

Maybe it's the horrible images that flash before my eyes every time I go to close them. More often than not, it's one of my siblings, eyes sunken and skin deathly pale, slowly starving to death without my income to keep them fed. Mother and Father have showed up on the other side of my nightmares, too. Aunt Flanny and her husband. Satin and Silk are also a common occurrence. I try to keep them a secret, not wanting to look like a crybaby in front of my mentors and district partner, the latter more so.

He's been so cold towards me lately, as if he is trying his best to deviate from any emotions that could be described as affectionate. I get it. Really, I do. Weave Tarroten doesn't want to get attached to anyone before being sent into the arena, me being the "anyone". He made a big deal out of it when Ferronia asked if he had any interest in allying; he shot that one down immediately, saying something about how allies always backstab you in the end, and there's really no point in having one. That he'd rather go in alone and safer, with no one to worry about but himself.

Accepting this, Ferronia then turned to me and asked the same question – a little too harshly, I must add. While I'd much rather confess that I would like Weave as an accomplice, I stuttered out a small, "W-what he said," and agreed that going in alone would be my safest bet. He so clearly wants nothing to do with me, so I might as well save myself the embarrassment of getting shot down by my friend's older brother.

Ever since the beginning, Weave has been nothing but nice to me. Holding my hand when I need him to. Checking to see if I'm okay whenever Ferronia makes an offensive comment. Helping me in and out of our chariot, the stupid thimble costume immobilizing me to the point of exhaustion. Up until a few days ago, I thought we'd struck up something that is unheard of in the Games.

Friendship.

But, to him, I'm nothing but a twelve-year-old girl with a bit of bad luck and an extremely large guilt complex. Why would he want me as an ally, anyway?

Propping myself up onto my elbows, I wonder how I could have managed so many thoughts this early in the morning.

I eventually drag myself out of bed, trying my best to ignore that gnawing feeling in my stomach as I get ready for training. The Capitol's showers are too complicated for their own good, a bunch of useless knobs and whistles covering the shower walls. I attempt to figure out what they're used for. At home, we have a metal tin and – if we can scrape up enough money – a bar of soap.

I can practically feel Ferronia shuddering at my lack of good hygiene.

Here, they spend hours and hours perfecting their looks. From what I've seen on our small television, after years of watching the Games, President Snow's puffy lips are a great example of the cosmetic surgery offered to the rich people of the Capitol.

I find it ridiculous.

Even if we did have the money, I don't think I would ever be able to do that to myself. Don't these people have any respect for their bodies? They're given food and water, a place to live where children aren't chosen to fight to the death. Many aren't given such fantastic odds, so the least they can do is look normal as they watch us die for their entertainment.

Then again, maybe it's just my fear of needles talking.

Stepping out of the hi-tech shower, a burst of warm air startles me and dries my water-slicked body. Even after living here for the past two days, it gets me every time.

It's almost ten, so I scramble to get ready as the sound of a clock ticking echoes throughout my ear canal. I slip into the stretchy jumpsuit that is laid out for me. Chiron must have put it there while I was showering.

Luckily, my auburn hair is fully dried, and all I have to do is run a brush through it – a luxury never used in the twelve years that I've been living. I pull it back into my signature bun and tuck the stray hairs behind my ear, wishing I hadn't let Taffeta cut it a few weeks back. She begged and pleaded, doing that thing with her eyes that she most likely learned from me, and I'm known to be a total pushover when it comes to my siblings. I'm pretty sure they all know this bit of information, even Denim, and I'd be lying if I said they didn't use it to their advantage.

Now it's uneven and will probably get in my way as the day goes on, all thanks to my sister and her annoyingly persuasive doe eyes.

Before long, I sit on my bed with my head in my hands, trying to calm myself down. I'm being ridiculous. I shouldn't be afraid of training, considering what the future holds. A bunch of kids learning how to survive in the wilderness should be the least of my worries. But after yesterday, can you really blame me?

The girl from 4 – Alison, I think her name was – had been carelessly racing a few other tributes through a complex obstacle course. She lost her balance, and fell to the ground with a sickening crunch. Countless Capitol paramedics loaded her onto a stretcher. Despite the distance he's been trying to put between us, Weave was quick to shield me from the scene, pushing my frozen form behind him in a protective manner. So I didn't actually get a peek at anything. My weak stomach thanks him immensely.

She was dead before the Games even started. I don't know whether to pity her or be jealous of her.

The tributes from 1, 2, and 4 – also known as the "Careers" – are exactly like the cold-blooded killers that I've seen on our television set, if not more frightening. More than once have I seen them looking at me, that predatory grin scary enough to send shivers down my spine, even when I'm alone in my room and they are nowhere to be found.

Although he would never admit it, Weave has done a good job at keeping them away from me, always standing close enough in case of an emergency. While he is no Father, I don't feel as lonely. Not when I have him to keep me company.

They're probably waiting for me already, as Ferronia Pallum is never late for anything and Weave likes avoiding her wrath. I heave myself off the bed with a loud sigh, looking longingly at the pillow sitting across from me, just asking to be drooled on. I would prefer to spend the day sleeping, rather than learning ten different ways to kill an assailant without using my hands.

Looking at my small fists, I exit the room, wondering: _Are these the hands of a killer? _I pass a mirror on my way out, and think, _No, probably not_.

The lecture starts as soon as I come into view.

"Where have you been, Twilla?" Ferronia asks, her face scrunched up with anger. "I thought I told you to meet us here by ten!"

Her expression causes me to take an automatic step back. "S-sorry, Ferronia," I stutter. "Lost track of time, I guess."

"Well, there's no time for that!" she exclaims. "Come on, then. We best be on our way!"

I've worked in the factories since I was ten years old, as have many children my age. Some even quit school to pick up extra hours, the money they earn being their only way to keep their families from starving. Dropping out is not illegal, per say. President Snow needs as many workers as possible, to keep his people clothed in their hideous attire, so he has managed to look the other way. Peacekeepers have learned to mirror his acts.

If I so much as _asked _my parents if I could abandon my studies to help keep food on the table, I'd be skinned alive. Father dropped out when he was fifteen, and I can tell he regrets it; the longing look on his face as I left for school is proof of that. There's no way he would've let me do the same.

Since I was only allowed two days of the week to work, I tried cramming as many hours as I could. This usually meant I skipped the lunch break, much to my cousins' dismay; they were sometimes able to drag me away from my assigned machine, but not without a little begging.

The lunchroom consisted of a few chairs, a dartboard, and a small television. Since the only thing that plays on it is previous Games, we usually spent our half hour playing darts and joking around like the kids everyone forgot we were. It was a nice change, I had come to realize. To do something for myself rather than others.

Over time, I managed to perfect the game to the point where my cousins didn't want to play with me anymore. When Rena asked if I had any strengths that would help me in the arena, this was the only thing I could come up with. It's not like I had much of an opportunity to learn how to do anything else, 8's industry pretty much pointless when it comes to the Games, as opposed to the other districts – particularly 1, 2, and 4.

But if I were to swap my beloved darts for a few knives, Rena had told me, I might just have a shot at winning. Not a particularly good one, considering my age, but a shot nonetheless. And that's more than I ever could've hoped for.

It stinks that I won't be able to show my fellow tributes what I can do, that I'm not completely useless, as my mentors specifically told me to keep my talent a secret. You can imagine how hard this is for me, as I can't keep a secret to save my life. Just ask Satin and Silk – they learned that the hard way.

Shaking my head, I bring myself out of my thoughts and back to reality. I really need to stop letting my mind wander, especially during training. For all I know, I could be missing valuable information – all because of my short attention span. I must've gotten that from Father.

After sending a longing look towards the knife-throwing station, I try focusing on the task at hand, the "task" being the complex knot I can't seem to decipher. It's really starting to bug me, and I know I won't be able to move on until I figure how to untie it. I let out an exasperated groan as my fingers miss the most important loop, causing me to start all over.

"Need some help with that?"

I find Weave towering over me. I send him a relieved smile. "Yes, please," I politely say, handing him the piece of rope.

His bushy brows knit together in concentration, teeth gnawing on his lower lip. I wait patiently on the sidelines as my district partner's nimble fingers attempt to finish what I'd started. After a few minutes, he returns it to me with a proud grin spreading across his face.

"Thank you, Weave."

Clapping his hands together, he responds, "No problem."

I look over his shoulder, eyes landing on the hand-to-hand combat station. The place where he's supposed to be. "Didn't Woof say for us to split up?" I ask.

He sends me a simple shrug. "Got lonely, I guess," explains Weave. "You're good company, Twilly. Remind me a lot of my sister."

Has he been as distant these past few days, or was I imagining things? His sudden need to talk to me – and by "talk", I mean more than "Can you pass the salt, please?" – has left me extremely confused. But who am I to complain? I've missed our brother-sister bond a little too much for my liking.

Grabbing some more rope, I question, "Amille, right?" He nods. "We're friends. Well, we _were."_

"Really?" says Weave, surprised.

"Yeah," I respond. "She used to sit with me and my cousins during lunch. Didn't say much, though." Remembering how chatty Satin and Silk were, I start to laugh. "Not that she could get a word in, anyway."

"_Amille? _Not talking?_" _he asks, looking as though he doesn't believe me. "Impossible. She won't shut up when she's around me!"

I let out a small giggle, trying my best to suppress it into my hand. I must not be doing a very good job, as the trainer sends an annoyed glance in our direction. We've interrupted his teaching. My face flushes under his intense stare.

"Sorry," we both mutter sheepishly.

Weave and I spend the rest of the morning alternating from weaponry to survival courses. We test out each one, to see which ones we're good at, all the while scoping out the competition.

We have a run-in with the boy from 4 while learning how to camouflage ourselves, but he doesn't do anything remotely dangerous. Not really. Just sort of looks at me with this all-knowing smirk, scary enough for Weave to push me behind him like he'd done the day before, after the accident with that Alison girl.

Her replacement walked through those doors with a clear skip in her step, looking oddly happy to be here, while I would much rather be at home with my family. I can tell Weave – and a lot of other tributes – feel the exact same way.

While on our scavenger hunt for hidden talent, I soon discover that I'm pretty decent at identifying edible foods. The assigned trainer points this out to me, and I feel my ears grow hot with embarrassment. I've never been able to take a compliment. Neither has Father.

Sadly, we are not allowed to eat the supplies – the edible ones, obviously – so, as I test myself on which berries are poisonous and which ones aren't, a rather loud growl coming from my tummy alerts us that it's time to eat.

The Career Tributes all sit at a large table located in the middle of the room, joking and laughing and gossiping, as if there's nothing wrong about the situation we've all found ourselves in. Weave leads me to the table farthest from them and their disgusting behavior.

"So," begins Weave, taking a bite out of his apple and chewing it slowly. "Tell me more about you, Twilly. I want to know everything."

His smile is so warm, it just about makes me cry. "Well," I start, "I have three siblings – two sisters and one brother. They're quite the handful, but I love them more than anything."

"And you're the oldest?" he asks.

"Yes," I respond, nodding. "Do you have any other brothers or sisters, besides Amille?"

"Nope," answers Weave. "Just us. I can't imagine having four kids under one roof. Must've been hard."

"It was," I agree, mind traveling to my family – eating so little food while I indulge myself in the Capitol's delicious pleasantries. I push my plate away in disgust.

A thoughtful look crosses his tan face. Taking another bite out of his apple, he absentmindedly responds, "I bet."

We eat the rest of our meal in silence.


	19. Evening: I

**Weave Tarroten, 15 ~ District 8 Male**

**Wolffe41**

When Twilly and I get back, she heads straight through to her room without speaking to anyone, and leaves me in the elevator, staring after her.

Training was terrible, even worse than yesterday. But at least there were no deaths. The replacement for the District 4 girl arrived, attracting everyone's attention. This is the first time in thirty-seven years that a tribute has died before reaching the arena.

Lucky.

I did as Woof instructed: go through the survival stations, and check out spear-throwing.

But the Careers were really putting themselves through their paces - throwing knives, using swords, glaring at us, weightlifting...I'm beginning to wonder if it's even worth trying anymore. Surely, if I get away from the Cornucopia and survive the Bloodbath, they will come after me and do some torturous thing, like slice me up?

If I die (which at this rate is imminent), I want to do it painlessly. Not for me, but for my family. It would break their hearts if I was in pain. I'm going to break their hearts anyway, of course, but I'd rather spare them the gore.

I sink into one of the settees overlooking the city. I'll give Ferronia this – she was right about the view. It's absolutely incredible.

My head drops into my hands, and I run them through my hair. I'm sweaty and sticky, but I can't quite manage to move my legs enough to walk to my room and shower. I'm trembling slightly – probably from the effort of trying not to look too weak in front of everyone else.

There's no sign of the mentors or Ferronia, or even the stylists, which doesn't surprise me. I don't find myself caring enough to wonder where they are. Possibly trying to get us sponsors, maybe in a meeting, or - in Ferronia's case - at a party. I just curl up on my side, waiting for them to return.

It's quite relaxing to be alone, watching the sun slowly sink over the vast city, casting stunning shades of orange and red and pink. It almost makes up for the fact that this is probably one of the last sunsets I will ever see.

I don't know how long I lay there for – it could be a few minutes, could be a few hours – but when the sky is black, the elevator chimes and I hear voices. It spurs me to sit up, my back creaking in protest, and run to my room.

Twilly is definitely next door to me; I hear rustling and water running. But when my door clicks shut, it goes silent immediately, almost as if she doesn't want me to know she's there.

I don't blame her for hiding - I want to myself. But if I want to get anywhere, I can't give up. I made a vow to Amille, to the guys, to my parents, and I can't dishonour them.

I step into the shower and press a button. I don't know and I don't care what it is, I just want it to be done. Seeing what I have seen these past days has made me despise the Capitol even more, and it disgusts me that I have found so much pleasure in the things that they will always have and we will never have. Simple things like a shower and food. Technology and medicines that actually work. It makes me sick.

All of this is wiped from my mind when someone knocks on the door, saying that dinner is ready. I think it was Woof, but the noise of the water hitting my flesh and the metal made the voice distorted.

I finally get out of my room, dressed in the same type of clothes that I have worn the past two nights. Once again, I am last. As soon as I sit, we begin to eat in silence apart from the clinking of cutlery or asking for a platter to be handed over.

I take a bread roll and a thick creamy sauce, still obeying our mentors' wish that we ration ourselves. It's awkward. Possibly the most awkward meal I've ever eaten, especially with the feud going on between Ferronia and Rena.

When dinner is finally over, Twilly stands silently and leaves – presumably back to her room.

Woof sighs and picks up another shining glass of white wine. For the past two nights, he has drunk a rich red, the colour of blood stained onto satin. Since I mentioned my phobia, he has tried to prevent the Avoxes bringing out anything that colour, and I find myself touched by the small act.

Ferronia looks at the three of us expectantly, but seeing that we are not going to talk, she leaves via the elevator. Rena grits her teeth audibly, and I see Woof biting back a smile at her.

"I want to wring her neck," Rena mutters, more to herself than anyone else. But it makes me chuckle slightly, since I've been thinking the same from the first time I saw her.

Woof pats Rena on the arm, and turns to me.

"Was it any better today?" he asks, and I find myself tensing up slightly. They must see that, because they both lean forwards simultaneously with worried eyes.

I sigh. "No, not really. It was worse, if anything."

"We got the replacement for the District Four girl today, didn't we?" Rena asks. I nod and cast my eyes down to the table. The Avoxes have started to take the food away, leaving only a crystal tumbler of water and a bottle of Woof's wine.

We go to the room overlooking the city, where I was curled up earlier. I sit in the same place, and they sit opposite, watching me worriedly. It makes me uncomfortable, but I ignore the squirm in my stomach and tell them about what happened.

"The Careers had the weapons pretty much all day – they're all amazing with each of them, and I think it upset Twilly."

"Did you go through survival?" Woof asks. I nod again, and tell him – fire-starting, knot tying, edible plants, rope-climbing, and a sprint test. It went well, I suppose, because I haven't done anything like that before.

No one has ever survived without killing at least one person. And unless the Careers kill each other at the start, I have no hope whatsoever.

"District Seven are favoring the axes. One and Two seem to be good with everything. The girl from Four likes the tridents. And both from Five are powerful. The girl from Six is blind, though," I say.

Woof gives a wry smile. "That's because they're trained."

Rena elbows him in the stomach and he chokes slightly, glaring at her. She raises an eyebrow expectantly at him, but he turns back to me.

"What do you reckon your chances are?"

I bite my lip, trying not to think of the many weapons finding perfect contact, the agility, the brute strength that most of the others seem to have.

I meet his eyes as I say, "Low. There are so many of them this year, and everyone else can sense it, too – it's going to be impossible to beat them unless they turn against each other. Two is getting on well together; I think One is, too. That's why Twilly's upset. She thinks she has no chance."

The mentors look at each other, and Rena gets up, her brow creased, and heads to Twilly's room.

"Do you?" Woof asks.

I avoid his eyes again, and hesitate, nervous to say what I really think for fear of being thought weak. He looks encouragingly at me, and I close my eyes.

"No."

He gets up, and my heart sinks into my stomach like a stone. He's given up on me, like I'm a lost cause with no fight left. But I _do_ have fight; it's just the wrong kind. All of my strengths are going to be useless in the arena.

With this playing through my mind as though it's on loop, trying to degrade me, it shocks me when he steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Would you come up to the roof for a moment? It's quieter, and there's less chance of us being overheard."

At first, I think he's talking about Rena and Twilly, or even Ferronia, but then he glances around the room - at the ceiling, in particular - and I get his meaning. He wants to tell me something, but the room is bugged. Of course it is. We have no privacy in the Capitol.

I agree, and we walk to the elevator, not saying anything. He presses a button at the top of the plaque, and we're zooming up into the darkness.

The roof is spectacular. It's been outfitted like a garden, full of life and smells and hundreds of plants that I've never dreamt of. The view is better up here, and the bright lights scattered across the city illuminate Woof's face as he leads me to the edge and sits on a bench. I sit on the ground, leaning against a sweet-smelling tree, and watch him light a small cigar.

"Do you regret winning your Games?" I ask quietly.

The question shocks him; he visibly flinches and looks around. I worry for a moment that it's upset him, and hesitate.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Yes," he breathes. "Killing innocent people...it takes away who you are. You never fully recover, and it haunts you for the rest of your life."

A haunted look enters his eyes, and I lean forwards, wanting to hear more. People have been muttering these sorts of things around the factories for years, where the machinery is loud enough to cover our whispers. But I have just gotten that information firsthand.

"Sometimes, I wish I had never won – yes, it brought triumph for our district, but at what cost? I think I lost my sanity that night, and Rena is a completely different girl," he continues, gazing past me to the city below, the haunted look becoming anger and pain.

He says nothing more, and I press on. "It's not really winning, is it?"

"That's why we're called victors. Winners are happy, basking in glory, and this is the opposite." He meets my eyes. "If I could do it again, I would choose to die."

My breath catches in my throat, and my heart beats quicker.

We sit for a few minutes, him blowing out smoke and me fiddling with grass, deep in thought.

Is it better to die? It would be an escape, that's true, and I couldn't kill. Not only would the blood freak me out, but my parents...what would they think if I came home a killer? Would they prefer me to remain innocent, if I chose it, or come back to them with blood-stained hands?

"Woof?"

He flinches again, but turns to face me.

"When is the best time to die?" I ask.

He looks uncomfortable, and I'm about to apologise and take it all back, forget what he's said, when he says, "At the beginning. When they're too busy trying to get as many kills as possible, and not focusing on making it painful. I would say suicide, but that has been known to reflect poorly on the people back home."

I nod in understanding, and a plan forms in my mind.

"If I wrote a letter, do you think you could deliver it for me at the end?" I say, as I look back over the city. I feel incredibly calm, even though I've just planned my own death.

Woof frowns at me. "I can, but you can't mention it to anyone. It's not essentially against the rules, but they won't look kindly upon it."

He stands. I heave myself up after him.

"You're not afraid?" Woof asks, a hint of sadness in his voice.

I don't turn to face him. "A wise man once said: 'Death is not the end. It is the beginning to a new adventure.' I'd like to see if that's true," I say, blushing slightly.

He chuckles dryly. "You're a better person than me. Come on, we can talk over the private training sessions with the other two."

I follow him back, feeling almost glad, almost _free._

"Would you mind if I went to write it now?" I ask as we step into the elevator.

He looks at me calmly, and smiles. "Of course."

The letter takes an hour and a half, but when I'm finished, it's like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I pass it to Woof by slipping it under where I'm sitting, and I presume he collects it afterwards.

We decide that my private session should look weak - mistaken so I'm not a threat, but not necessarily a target (and to stop Rena and Twilly finding out). Twilly will do the best she can with her darts.

I look fondly around at them all, knowing that I still have a few elements of it under my control.

As long as my family understand, I don't mind how I go.

But I won't do it for the Capitol.

I'm going to die for myself.


	20. Training: Day Three

**Wjj's A/N: **Wjj here! I really hope you enjoy the chapter!

**Lila Callbrooke****, 17 ~ District 2 Female**

**wjjmwmsn5  
**

Dominic and I head down to training together, him trailing just behind me. But he is beside me in the elevator. As we exit it, he resumes walking behind me.

In the training room, I stop at the entrance and look around for the Careers—it was a long breakfast, so we're late. I finally catch Aqua and Gleam looking around for something—us, maybe—at the spear station. Or near it, anyway.

So I start to go towards them, not really caring if Dominic sees or follows. Ever since that night after Training Day 1, things have been awkward between us.

Even so, I still do think that he's right behind me, waiting for just the right moment to whisper something in my ear or make one of the comments that he does.

As I reach the spear station, Nolan pops up there too.

"Hi," I say, looking at the spears and thinking of how _horrible_ I'd be at throwing one of them. I _might_ throw it all the way to the target—if I got a lot closer than most, and if I practiced a while.

"'Hi' yourself," Nolan sends back. I narrow my eyes and mouth, '_Ha-ha_'.

But before I can actually say anything to Nolan, Aqua distractedly asks, "Hey...anyone think of any strategies yet?" and then snaps back to the group attention-wise.

"We'll figure it out in the Games," I dismiss.

"Plenty of time while they're scurrying around like insects, looking for a place to hide," Gleam comments, smirking. And I roll my eyes at him and his, well, idiocy.

"I'm sure they'll stick around to watch me kill you, Gleam," I retort, and then start to edge closer to the spears, think twice, and edge back. That'd be humiliating right in front of all the rest of the Careers. I decide to wait until they're distracted with something somewhere else, and none of them are watching me.

Gleam completely ignores my comment, and I roll my eyes again.

Aqua gives Gleam a look that I catch, but can't read. "I still think we need to come up with a strategy beforehand…at least to figure out exactly what we're going to do. I mean, I know how to kill people, but that's just a bit easier said than done, wh—?"

"Aqua. Really," Gleam insists. There is _so_ something going on between them. "Don't worry, we'll be fine."

"Exactly." I throw my hands in the air and shake my head. Not that anyone notices. Aqua pouts and stays quiet, her attempts failed.

I roll my eyes. "Idiot," I mutter, crossing my arms.

"Okay, now where are Blye and Dominic at?" Gleam asks.

"I thought…" I trail off and immediately turn around, thinking he was _right behind me_. And he was…

"Well, we came here at the same time," I grumble. "He's here somewhere."

I start to pout, and then straighten up. I'm not as ignorant and idiotic as Aqua, and I'm superior to her, especially in skills. So I should show it. I pull back my shoulders, standing a little taller and more professionally than before. No one seems to notice, so I roll my eyes.

"Gleam, if I were you," Nolan begins, "I would worry more on who is around you."

I'm sure that we're all three thinking, _Huh?_

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Gleam says, voicing our confusion - since the sentence was directed at him in the first place.

"I snuck up on you, and I wasn't even trying," Nolan says.

A ghost of a smile plays on my face.

"It's not sneaking up on me if you're in plain view," Gleam explains to him - and then I just can't hold in the laughter, because someone even _had_ to explain this to Nolan.

"Oh, that might be true, but you still allowed me to get close enough to slit your throat," Nolan answers, rendering all of us speechless. And I'm still snickering because none of us have one clue about whatever he means.

Finally, Aqua finds something to say, _of course_. "But...you're already standing right next to him, and you have been. If he thought you were going to slice his throat, I'm pretty sure he would have moved already." Though Aqua generally annoys me in every way, shape, and form, I still snicker, because it _is_ comical in a stupid way of Nolanland.

"I wasn't earlier," Nolan tells Aqua, motioning to Gleam for whatever reason. Then he turns and directs his words at Gleam. "Just keep your guard up; I don't think you'd be this lucky if I were Dominic."

Before I get to say anything, Aqua says, "What would Dominic have done to him in the Training Center?" She looks at him curiously.

"I don't think in the present; time is fairly fluid for me, Aqua," Nolan explains.

_Ha-ha,_ I think sarcastically, _District 4 joke_. I giggle, and Aqua gives a tiny glare.

I glare back, snapping, "What?"

"Now, ladies," says the idiot who makes no sense, a.k.a. Nolan. "Play nice."

"Shut up, Nolan," I growl.

"I actually agree with Lila on that one…" Aqua says quietly, like she's ashamed of it. I take a deep, deep breath, and then exhale it slowly, angrily, and scowl at her.

"Damn, you know I made a mistake when Lila _and_ Aqua disagree with me," Nolan jokes.

"Fact of life for you there," I mumble seriously.

"Can we call up a truce now?" Nolan decrees.

"That really depends on everyone. I, quite frankly, think a truce would be refreshing for a change," Aqua agrees, nodding, playing up some stupid smart act or something. What an idiot.

I decide to try to call off the topic. "I think it would be nice, but the most impossible thing in the world."

"All it takes is to actually be nice, and keep mean thoughts to yourself…"

I laugh. "I'm not _five_."

She grits her teeth. "Maybe you should stop acting like it, then?" And I consider launching myself at her. I purse my lips, and will myself to stay where I'm standing.

"Please, idiot," I hiss, rolling my eyes. "I don't need your advice."

"Okay, can we calm down, ladies?" Nolan pipes up. Leave it to him...

Aqua nods as I answer, "Gladly."

I almost roll my eyes. Like we're actually all going to peacefully get along. We're always going to argue and fight—at least while in the Capitol; I'm still clinging to the hope that we'll be too busy and distracted in the Games to really get into any more heated arguments about this, that, and the other. I can only hope...

Or maybe if busyness doesn't make the arguing stop, the fact that we need to stay focused will.

"Aqua?" Nolan says. I look up from my shoes, no longer off in space.

"Yes..." she answers again.

"Can we calm down?" he asks. Again. "Aqua, I promise not to pick on Gleam for an hour or two?"

Aqua gives him a funny look. "Why would I care? No offense, Gleam."

Still not looking at us, Gleam finally says something again. I'm surprised he hasn't left. Actually, I thought he did leave. I almost wasn't as annoyed as usual until Aqua started to get all annoying, and that usually means Nolan and-or Gleam is gone. I guess I should have known better.

"None taken," Gleam says absently.

"Oh, darn, I don't have a good card to hang over your head." Nolan thinks a moment. "Well, you're brand new; you must not have too many alliances yet?"

"Don't bother to bargain," I tell him, and immediately I know I meant 'blackmail' instead of 'bargain', but decide to go along with it. I find Nolan rather...well, not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer...and so I figure he'll just think it makes perfect sense in his messed-up little brain.

"Hmmm?" Nolan raises his eyebrows.

So he didn't take the bait. I can still try to confuse him anyway.

I look at him suspiciously.

"What ever do you mean?" Nolan asks, reading my mind.

Not rolling my eyes like I usually would instinctively do when someone said something like that, I tell him, looking innocent but not suspiciously so (I hope), "I said nothing."

"Nothing about bargaining? I'm sorry; my social and verbal skills aren't very top-notch. I spend a lot of time alone," Nolan admits.

And I'm pretty sure we're all thinking the same thing again: _What?_

I sigh, holding laughter back. "Not sure what you mean."

"Okay, I'll come straight out and say it - what do you mean by bargaining?" he asks.

I do a face-palm.

Nolan gives me what I believe that yesterday he called his 'trademark grin'.

And he said that when I say the word 'idiot' to someone, it's like my trademark thing. So I give him my trademark "Idiot."

"That was uncalled for!"

I go through a few responses. "You're uncalled for," "I don't care," or just walking off. But decide on a fourth option.

"Aw, I so sorry. Did I hurt wittle Nolan's feelers?" I ask him with a mockingly sad and concerned face.

"Would you laugh if I told you yes?" He grins, kind of slyly.

"Yes."

"Good, I wouldn't expect anything less from a cold-hearted femme fatale. At least, that's what Dominic said you were," he tells me, and I grit my teeth from belief, disbelief, and anger. Because I do think that Dominic would call me that, but I don't think he actually did, and Nolan's just pulling on my leg. His grin widens.

My face reddens from anger. "I'm going to kill you both!"

"OOOH, did I hurt WITTLE Lila's FEELWINGS?" Nolan says very loudly, gaining attention from a few around us. Nolan's laughing as I bite my lip so I don't smile.

Growing up in my house has given me great acting skills. I've learned to never regret things, or at least not show it if you do. And to not strive to get attention, because it only makes people _not _pay attention to you. _But_ I've never been one to follow directions or paths people set for me. So I do go for attention, but not in the way Dominic gives it to me. And I do regret that. But thankfully, the acting it takes to _survive_ as a Callbrooke shields the need for attention and all the regret and cowardliness from others' view.

Otherwise I'd just bring shame to people.

So though it makes me seethe, I also enjoy what Nolan said because it brought attention.

Just a little bit of Lila facts for you.

I see that Gleam is longingly fixating his eyes on the knot-tying station. I have no clue why.

So instead of focusing on _him - _"Watch out, Nixe."

And then I turn around and storm off, but I hear a near-silent few sentences: "Oh, I have—I have since Day One. Watching you too." From Nolan. Nolan Nixe. District 4 male tribute and Career. The guy who...likes me?

The _other_ guy who likes me.

_Oh no,_ I think, and try hard not to sprint to the knife/dart-throwing area to calm down. On my way there, I see Dominic with some girl. I continue to walk, still thinking about Nolan and how angry it makes me that he said that, until I realize what I just saw: Dominic and some girl, talking, a little too close for my likings. I continue to walk. Because I can act like I didn't see that, or I don't care, and it'll be believable.

I hope with more hope than the word 'hope' can offer that it's believable.

Maybe I want to cry. And maybe I want to rip someone's head off. Maybe I want to curl up on my bed for a few hours. Maybe I want to obsessively train until the world recedes to me, the dummy, the dart, and the simple flick of the wrist. Maybe I want to hurt the trainer with a foam scythe in the hand-to-hand area. Maybe I want to hurt Dominic for leading me on. Maybe I want to hurt Nolan for being so ignorant. Maybe I want to go home, after winning the Games, and talk to Gina or Swift like the old days before I decided to volunteer and they started to edge away without me even noticing until the reaping. Maybe I want to see my brothers talking happily, and just the four of us—me and my brothers—having a good time. Maybe I want to kiss Dominic again. Maybe I want to kiss Nolan. I don't know, though, because it's all too fast and bundled up into one thing that's supposed to be my joyride of a lifetime.

But it's _not._ It's _not_, because it shattered my family for good. It's _not_, because now my friends hate me and I'm friendless. It's not, because I didn't follow my father's advice; I got too attached to the tributes, and now I'm having a hard time deciding whether I like a few of them or hate them. And it's _not_, because the male from 5, who I'm supposed to kill, has experience with spears for some reason. And he's taller than me. And stronger than me. And it'd take the perfect throw—which I can master, if I'm focused, which I won't be (not like I thought I was going to be, anyway)—to kill him with some of my darts.

I reach the knife-and dart-throwing station just before I burst into tears. Instead of crying like a wuss, though, I pick up a dart and throw it as hard as I can. In a matter of seconds, there's a loud _thump! _and I see I almost hit the center. But right now, in all my anger, almost isn't good enough. I scold myself, slow the motions down, but still throw the darts insanely hard. Flick, blur, thump, take another dart. On and on again until the darts start to hit one another in the center or near it. When that happens, I throw one more, watching its dangerousness zoom out of my grasp. Then I walk over to the dummy. I can barely pull out the dart that I first threw, because of all the anger and sadness and confusion piled into it. The others are the usual depth into the dummy's fake flesh.

I look over to where the other Careers _were_. None of them are there; Gleam and Aqua are at the trident station, and Nolan is at the explosives. I go to the spear station like I wanted to earlier. I pick up a spear. I can barely hold it. I try to chuck it at the dummy, and it falls way short: in-between where I stand and the dummy. "Greeeat," I whisper.

I leave the spear there and decide to just go back to darts. On my way, though, I can't resist going over to Dominic and the idiotically stupid girl he's with, as he teaches her how to wield a sword, so close to her - just like how we were close the other night before we kissed...when we almost...I don't want to think about it. It only reminds me that he's been just playing me, that I should've never trusted him.

And that sucks, because I might have _actually_ liked him. Until now - now I hate him, so much. So I decide to go over there and ruin their little love fest while I can. That's when I realize who it is: It's that girl from 10, the one Dominic insisted to be in the pack. Great. Just _peachy_.

"Dominic, why are you wasting your time with her? She has no skill whatsoever," I say, closer to the knife section than their pretty little honeymoon in sword paradise. I want to barf, scream, and punch something all at once.

Adeline goes rigid with irritation. I almost smirk. "I have skill. Would I be in the Career pack otherwise?"

"The only reason you're in the Careers is because Dominic's taken a liking to you. You don't have any skill." My voice rises with my hate level. "You can't even thrust properly. You're from District Ten! All you can do is ride cattle."

She goes to the axes, a ways away from this station, and comes back. She sends an axe into a knife station dummy. Then she grabs some rope and does some lasso trick, taking her axe and stabbing where the blue dummy's gut would be if it were real after reeling it in towards us. Not impressive at all. I could kill so much more efficiently and just better with my knives, darts, or a scythe. I'm just _better_ than her.

"Who has no skill now?" she growls.

"You," I reply evenly. "If that dummy was holding a weapon when it went flying, you would be impaled. You may have hit the target with that axe, but your form was entirely off. Also, lasso-throwing? Really? _Such_ a unique skill for someone from District Ten to have. Granted, it was good, but it won't help you much in the Games."

"Lila, don't be so hard on her. For someone who's never picked up a sword before, she's doing really well," Dominic tells me.

My face goes completely red, and I want to punch him in the face. I want to hurt him so hard for hurting me. No, he didn't hurt me. He just used me. It's sick.

"Fine. But when she dies in the Bloodbath, don't come crying to me," I snarl, and then walk away. I mutter under my breath, "Idiot! Using me…choosing _her_."

"Sorry about that. Lila's a bit...temperamental." I know I'm not supposed to hear this, but I do, and my heart drops. He's...defending _against_ me now...after days of simply _defending _me here and there?

Fuming, I leave Dominic and Adeline's spot behind and march to the knife station. On the way, someone bumps into me. I look down to see a little twelve-year-old. "You idiot!" I snarl. "Watch where you're going, please! God, I'm going to tear you to shreds in the arena!"

She clenches her fists, snarls, and starts to part with me.

But I'm too angry to let her. Dominic wouldn't see my points. He wouldn't see that she's useless! How can he like her? She's so boring and annoying, and gets lucky with ropes and axes. Big _deal_. I don't think I ever liked him; I just wanted to. He's so manipulative and _blind_ that it's infuriating. I can't even stand him right now, let alone the annoyingness that is Adeline of District _10._ Or this slop from _whatever_ district.

Why does everyone just _love, love, love_ to test me?

"Is the little girl annoyed? Oh, what's wrong?" I ask the girl sarcastically.

She opens her mouth to say something.

I am _very_ annoyed. And I can't kill anyone, and I don't think I can muster the strength to pull out the darts I'll throw with all the anger I have in me. So once she's nanoseconds away from saying something, yelling at me, whatever, I nonchalantly gesture to the Peacekeepers in the corner - as if to say, 'They'll hurt you, little girl.' Just like I will.

She sticks out her tongue and wrinkles her forehead. Then she executes a perfect little-kid storm-off; she walks away with stomping feet and lots of hand language. Madly moving her hands, she finally settles on one position: the position to strangle someone. I smirk, and know that she feels how I feel. Because, you know, misery really loves company.

I notice the girl arriving at the Gauntlet, and want to see her angry or miserable or terrified reaction to my provoking. She looks totally peeved, her little face contorted and red, her fists now clenched.

I watch her begin, ready for her to chicken out and run back. She misses the first trainer swiftly and gracefully—lucky jump. She snarls at the second. That's a brave move, considering that he could completely clobber her if he felt the need. I'd feel the need. I _do_ feel the need.

And then—on the third…oh, wow. She really has something in her - going against me, a trainer, and then doing what she does next. The little girl rips the foam club right from the trainer's hands, and then repeatedly starts to _beat_ him with it. I don't think many more people other than me and those at the Gauntlet notice, as it's a pretty soundless occurrence, and no one watches the runners on the Gauntlet anyway.

Peacekeepers flock her, ripping the club out of her hands as she tries to hit _them_ with it. They drag her out of training.

Okay, I was mistaken. She's not brave; she's seriously insane.

Well, that fits. Isn't everything pretty insane lately?

* * *

**Dominic Parraldi****, 17 ~ District 2 Male**

**WriterFreak101  
**

Lunch is probably the least favorite time for me here at the Capitol. Of course, I never told anyone this out loud, but inside I'm dreading it.

Why, you may ask?

Well, I'll tell you why. I'm getting sick and tired of Nolan and Gleam. Seriously, at first when they got into arguments and tiffs, they were kind of funny. Not only funny, but actually quite hilarious. I try and make it seem like I'm not bothered by their crap. Honestly, though, I'm just about getting as sick of it as Lila. Unlike her, I've mastered the art of acting; I may seem like I'm enjoying their "entertainment" (which sometimes I admit I do), but for the most part, it's just old and tiresome.

At the buffet table, I pick up some steak, scoops of salad with chopped lettuce and tomato (I decided to hold the onion and all the rich dressings they have), grapes, and pasta with tomato sauce.

Looking at the sauce-covered pasta, I'm suddenly pulled back to the kitchen at my dad's place. An image of my father making foods that involve lots of sauces and noodles flashes before my eyes. He says that even though our last names aren't spelled the same (our ancestors changed the spelling during the wars even before Dark Days), he and I are largely of Italian descent. So yes, he did pass some on lessons of the Italian culture to me. In fact, I can even speak Italian pretty fluently because he always switched between the languages; it's one of the three languages, along with French, that I know how to speak.

Thinking about my dad gets me thinking about the rest of my family. I wonder...what they're doing now? Probably bragging about how much of an honor it is for me to be here, while at the same time wondering if I'll come back alive.

Soon, Sage and the rest of my friends make their way into my thoughts as well. I wonder what they're doing now that I am gone. Maybe trying their best to keep things going as if I were still there. Must be kind of hard, because I'm such a one-of-a-kind presence. That's something they would always tell me if I was absent during one of our usual meetings after training in the Career academy.

_Try not to have too much fun, _Sage's voice echoes in my mind. The last thing she said to me before I came here. No worries about that. Right now, I'm barely enjoying myself.

"Hey, Dominic," a voice says behind me. I turn and see that Lila is standing with a tray in her hands. "Are you done staring at the pasta? If not, can you please move, so that the rest of us can get some?"

I mentally shake my head and clear my mind of thoughts about home. However, I only manage to get them so that they're echoing in the back of my mind. It makes me want to fume, because I don't understand. How can I be thinking about my family so much when I'm in the Capitol, getting ready to do what I always wanted my whole life? On top of that, why am I thinking about them as if I'm missing them? I mean, it's not like I'm going to be gone forever. I'm going to come back. As a victor of these Games. Sure, some of these tributes look like they're slightly skilled, but even now I'm still confident about winning.

I sit in my usual spot at the Career table.

On my right is Adeline. She waves to me and smiles, which I do in return. However, this only adds to the mixture of anger, sadness, and frustration rolling around in me. You see? I don't even feel like saying something flirty to Adeline.

The main reason for that comes and sits on my left, setting her tray down. For a moment, I catch a smile at the corner of Lila's lips. She came to the table from the opposite direction I did, so she doesn't really see Adeline sitting next to me until she looks beyond me. A disgusted look appears on her face. Her head turns to the left, and she makes a sound that comes close to a sniff. It's directed at mostly Adeline, but I know she intended for it to be directed towards me too. She's been like this ever since she and I kissed yesterday. It makes me shake my head. I want to groan.

"Are you okay?" Adeline asks me.

Before I can respond, Lila snaps her head in our direction and shoots a fiery glare at Adeline. Judging from the look on her face, Adeline will not be saying anything during the rest of this lunch period.

That's when Nolan and Gleam come to the table. Nolan takes the seat across from me. I frown as he places his tray and puts on that annoying lopsided grin of his. The guy must think he's some amazing comedian or something.

Aqua sits next to Nolan on his left, and Gleam sits on her right. Blye, meanwhile, makes herself comfortable next to Lila.

The boy from 4 must have been waiting for a full audience, because that's when he starts his usual rounds with Gleam. A goofy smile on his face, he says, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together to annoy the hell out of Gleam..."

From the corner of my eye, I see Lila smile. You know, for a girl who says she can't stand these things, she sure shows amusement.

My reflections are interrupted when Gleam replies to Nolan with a casual grin. He's just as much to blame for this as Nolan is. Believe me, I've seen my parents fight before; I know how it takes two to tangle. "Well, Nolan, I have to say - throughout these past three days, I've been flattered by all of the attention."

"Well, Gleam, I have to say - don't let it go to your head." Nolan says this as he points to Gleam's head. Lila chuckles, and I find myself chuckling as well.

Yes, they're still annoying. As I said, though, they have their moments.

Everyone else is quiet. Blye is just eating and drinking, looking at the nearest wall. Judging from the way she's gnawing on that carrot, she's trying to keep from going over to Nolan and smacking him upside the head. Aqua seems to find the food on her plate quite fascinating, poking at it with a fork.

"Oh, no," Gleam responds to Nolan. "No worries there; I've never been the type of guy who has an ego, I'm very..." He pauses, trying to come up with an explanation of what he supposedly is. "Down-to-Earth. And even with all this..." He sweeps his hand in a circle, indicating everyone at the table. "Won't change a thing."

At this, Lila can't help but crack up laughing. Inside, I'm laughing as well.

Please. Both Nolan and Gleam have bloated heads. I mean, I know I have one. Still, at least I don't go around trying to deny that I do.

Nolan follows Gleam's response with one of his own mischievous remarks. "Oh, down-to-Earth? No stress, no strain? Well then, I shall definitely see you in the Ten."

"That, you most certainly will."

"You look like you could be a daisy."

From the look on Gleam's face, he's caught off-guard by this remark. "...I'm sorry, what?"

I decide to throw in my own two cents. Hey, if they're going to annoy the hell out of me, why not do the same to them? "For once, I agree with Nolan. You do have a persona about you that seems to exclaim: 'daisy'!"

Gleam shoots a murderous glare back at me, and I only smile and brush it off. There's no way he can take me on, and he knows that.

Nolan presses on. "Someone who could rise to the challenge and beat the odds. Lady Luck is a fickle mistress, do you think you can keep her?"

At this, Gleam scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. "You can have her. I don't need luck." For once, I can actually see a way that Gleam and I are alike; we both use hand motions. I wonder if it's a District 1 thing, or maybe perhaps we are both Italian. I look him over, though, and decide against that. If he is at all part-Italian, it's only a very thin strain.

"Hmmm, I'll take all of her I can get. A smart person once said, 'I'd rather be lucky than good'." I instantly recognize the quote, but clearly Nolan wants to test Gleam's knowledge. (Or lack thereof.) "Do you know what district they were from?"

"Not a clue, what district?"

A proud grin, one that kind of reminds me of a hawk's, appears on Nolan's face. Immediately, I make a mental note of this. I am the most dangerous player in these Games, no question. However, Nolan is proving to be a threat as well; there's something about him that says he likes to play with prey. Just like he is with Gleam. I like to play with my prey too. However, Nolan seems like he would do it just for his own satisfaction. I would do it to give the Capitol a good show.

"District Number One."

Gleam smiles as he snorts softly in amusement. "Really? What was their name?"

Nolan's cocky expression falls slightly. Inwardly, I chuckle. I will give Nolan this, he's smart. However, it's clear from this incident that he isn't as smart as he likes to make himself out to be. "I really can't remember off the top of my head, but I remember vaguely that it was your first victor."

"I know who it is," I say, looking Nolan square in the eye. I allow the corners of my mouth to raise in a smile. He tries to hide it, but I have a feeling that Nolan might be fuming.

"Oh, Silka. She did get lucky; there were no such things as Careers back then." Gleam pauses. "That's interesting. Thanks."

"Consider it a gift, out of my limited knowledge," Nolan replies.

_You got that right_, I think.

Smiling and nodding, Gleam says, "Very limited." From his tone, I can tell he agrees.

Clearly, this isn't going as Nolan had planned. Looking at his tray, he mutters under his breath, "Bastard."

Gleam, who had been laughing with Aqua about he managed to get one up on Nolan, whips his attention back to Nolan. "What was that?"

"Custard?" Nolan says.

Gleam chuckles. I'm chuckling as well, but I send the both of them a warning glare. I know if I don't start to reiterate things, we might be seeing some blood a little sooner than we thought.

Luckily, Aqua chooses this moment to break into the conversation. "I want custard..."

Giving an offhanded gesture towards the buffet table, Gleam says to her, "I think there's some over there."

Aqua smiles a little, and walks over to the buffet to get some.

From across the table, I see Nolan grinning. Lila is giving her usual eye-rolls. Nolan reaches across the table and pushes her gently, trying to prod her to do something. I'd push him back in his seat, but I need to take notes on how Nolan and Lila interact. In case any of this info helps me in the Games.

"Be sociable," he says. Then quietly under his breath, he adds, "Fool."

Lila hears his remark, though, and her face wrinkles in anger. "Idiot. I'll speak when I want to."

"She's alive!" Nolan exclaims, startling the whole table. "Ahahahahahahahaha!" he laughs.

I smile cockily. It's been a little while since I've teased her, so this could be my chance to get back on top of things. "Loosen up a little bit, Lila. Your muscles are going to be so tense when the Games start, you won't be able to fight. Come on, live a little." Quickly, I realize that if she does that, then she might do something with Nolan. I can't have that. "Not too much, of course. Enough to where your muscles won't be set in a permanent fixture. Take a look at Nolan." I'm saying this in a half-joking tone. But honestly, I think Lila can get a little serious at times. She needs to lighten up.

Lila is looking at everyone else now. "How is he," she says as she gestures at Nolan, "the life of the party?"

"You think I'm the life of the party?" Nolan asks her. "I'm so flattered!" He then turns to Gleam. "Next thing you know, she's gonna propose."

I'm chuckling as Lila continues to groan and face-palm. My mood is much better than it was throughout most of the day. For once, because of Nolan's antics. I'm tempted to thank him, but I really don't feel like giving him the satisfaction.

"I would stop doing that," Gleam says to Lila, "you're going to leave a red mark. Or brain damage." Realization suddenly twinkles in his eyes. "On second thought, you know what? Keep doing that. It's fine."

Giving Gleam one of her death glares, Lila says, "You know what would be better, Gleam? Doing it to you."

That's when Gleam decides to smack her on the head playfully. This causes Lila's eyes to widen in shock. "Oh, God..." she says as she turns to me. I can tell from the expression on her face that she's asking me if Gleam just did what she thinks he just did. I can only nod in confirmation, because I'm as surprised as Lila is.

Again, Aqua decides to join us. (_Took her long enough to get that custard_, I think.) "What did I miss?" she asks.

Lila only gives a groan for a response. Nobody else says anything.

Without taking her eyes off Lila, Aqua sits down and gives her an odd look. "Okay then..."

"It. Was. Scarring."

"It was beautiful!" Nolan exclaims. "Gleam and Lila were all up on each other!"

The thought of that makes me want to bash Nolan's head into his tray.

Lila starts to pretend-gag. "One: **_No_**. Two: Nolan, you've officially gone mad."

Gleam decides to speak then. "I'm not a masochist." He looks at me. "I'm not like him."

I widen my eyes in mock hurt. Honestly, is that the best that Gleam can do? Please. Lila's remarks have a lot more bite to them than his, and that's quite sad. "Me, a masochist?" I ask. "Oh, no, I'm not like that. Arrogant, yes? A playboy? Most definitely. Masochist? Nah."

"I don't know," Gleam says. "You spend an awful lot of time chasing after her..."

Aqua eyes all three of us. "Yeah right...I agree, Lila...again..."

I'm honestly going to be surprised if the District 4 girl makes it far. I mean, she has no spine. Even Blye, the weakest out of all of us, has more backbone than she does.

"Seriously, why is everything so insane today?" Lila asks.

I wink at her. "You bring out the insanity in people."

"I'm forging a happy alliance!" Nolan suddenly shouts. "I must have mystical powers!" Mystical? Wow. This guy must think he's really something.

Aqua sighs, and starts to eat her custard. "I want fish sticks..."

"They are at the buffet table," Lila replies.

The girl from 4 looks back at the buffet table. "...I kind of don't want to get up."

Again, Lila face-palms.

"What do y'all want?" Nolan asks as he stands up.

"What do you mean?" Aqua asks him.

"Fool!" Nolan shouts at her. I see an annoyed look on Aqua's face. Make that one more person getting sick of Nolan's antics. "I'm offering to get up and get y'all some food."

Lila pipes up, "An apple, please. Green."

I chuckle. "Please?" Since when does she say please?

All she does is glare at me, and inside I'm laughing my head off.

"Fish sticks," Aqua say, "and some water if you can, please?"

Nolan nods. "A green apple, fish ticks, and water for the harpies. Got it." Then he looks over to me. I see a devious grin. Before I can make out what he must be thinking, though, he asks me, "Do you want anything while I'm getting it, bunny?"

I am completely shocked. Apparently, so is everyone at the table. They're all staring at me and Nolan. Waiting to see what will happen. Right now, I'm too stunned to do anything. Bunny? Did Nolan just call me bunny? I'm not sure what to think.

"What did you just call me?" I ask him.

"Bunny," Nolan says, his smile widening because he knows that he has said something I have no words to reply to. The urge to actually slam his face into the table is stronger. I wish I had an apple to shove into his mouth like yesterday. For some reason, I bet this is his payback for that incident. "You know, like the playboy bunny?" he continues. "What? You even 'fessed to be a playboy yourself. I think it makes a great nickname."

I give him one of my deadliest glares. "I think you had better go and get what everyone else ordered," I say in a voice laced with a threatening growl.

He smiles again, and I know that he knows he's gotten onto my case. He's hit something that's kind of sensitive to me. Hey, I may be a playboy, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt whenever someone makes references to it. You honestly think it's all fun? It's not. Yes, there have been some good things. But it hurts like hell some days and nights. To be honest, the only reason why I'm like that is because I'm trying to get my parents' attention. And because it helps me build my reputation as a Career. Believe me, if there was a different way, I would have done it. It irks me beyond belief, and it's a good thing he starts to leave.

Before going to the buffet table, though, he says, "Sure thing." After that, he turns to Gleam. "Hey, maybe Dominic can give you a rabbit's foot."

Finally, he leaves, and I'm rolling my eyes in irritation.

Lila is grinning. For some reason, that stings even more than the actual comment. "Now you know how it feels," she sneers.

"Please, this doesn't compare," I say. I know I'm right. Whenever I tease Lila, there's annoyance, but I can tell it doesn't hit a nerve the way this comment has. Realizing I probably sound and look mopey, I quickly steel myself over. Hey, I didn't go through all that hell just to lose it because of what some stupid asshole said. "You like it when I mess with you," I say.

"Oh yeah, most definitely. It's the highlight of my day whenever you come out and annoy the hell out of me."

I shrug. "Hey, I aim to please."

"Is that why you have fun with nearly every single girl in the academy?"

I grin. "Hey, I can make your world spin too if you allow me."

Just as she is about to comment, Nolan comes back with everyone's order. I watch as he gives the trays back to everyone. He saves Lila's tray for last, giving her a smile.

She rolls her eyes when she sees the green apple. Then, grinning, she says to him, "I wanted a yellow apple, Nolan!" She bats her eyelashes.

A sudden feeling rushes through me. It makes me want to walk over to the other side of the table and snap Nolan's neck. It's actually quite tempting. But I decide I should save it for the arena. As much as I may not like Nolan, I know we're going to need him if the Careers are going to get far in the Games.

Still, I keep my eyes fixed on Nolan, and make a mental note to keep an eye on him always. I don't like the idea of him getting friendly with Lila.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he says to her.

Again, Lila bats her eyelashes. "Thank you, Nolan." She turns her attention back to me. "At least he knows how to be a gentleman."

"Come on, Lila, we all know you like it rough," I say.

I'm rewarded with yet another one of her famous glares.

Aqua meanwhile has been eating her fish sticks, and says to Nolan, "Thanks."

Nolan nods, and then makes his way back to the buffet table. He goes and gets a yellow apple. What pisses me off most is he just didn't grab a yellow apple. Instead, he went and grabbed the shiniest one that they had. Does he honestly think he's going to win her over by that?

I feel the grip on my fork become stronger. Resisting the urge to throw it at him, I instead stab my pasta. This does little to distract me, though, as Nolan says to Lila, "Here you go, Your Highness."

Lila laughs in response. "Thaaaaaanks."

Giving his trademark lopsided grin, Nolan says, "Thought you hated that?"

"I do."

"And yet..."

"And yet what?"

"You're putting up with me."

At this, Lila groans.

Nolan quickly follows his statement of observation up with a question. "Wow, is this a dream? Gleam, slap me!"

"As you wish," Gleam says.

Lila smirks. "Why are you so infatuated with him?"

"I could have Aqua do it," Nolan says, "she's much better-looking." He grins maliciously.

Gleam kind of squirms uncomfortably. "I'd be a little worried if you found me more attractive than her..."

Aqua blushes. "Hey, don't bring me into this!"

"I have a headache," Lila complains.

Not able to help myself, I lean in and whisper into her ear, "I know a way to take care of that." I then follow it up with a wink.

She hesitates, debating over what she should do now. I start to think she might be coming up with some response, but she just wrinkles her nose and groans.

"DOES IT HURT WHEN I YELL LIKE THIS!" Nolan shouts, startling the entire Career table. Even Blye, who has been doing her best to keep out of this conversation by staring at the wall, is now looking at Nolan.

Lila turns away from me, and her eyes are set on Nolan, shooting glares at him. In a tone and voice equally as loud as his, she shouts back, "NO, YOU IDIOT!"

That's when all of us start to feel that perhaps we are being watched. Slowly, I turn my head to look behind me. Sure enough, all of the other districts are looking at us. Many of them are surprised, stunned, amused, or possibly all three. A few are smiling in their amusement.

"Oh, God..." Aqua covers her face with her hands.

"This is...awkward," Blye agrees.

Lila smiles, and tries unsuccessfully not to giggle.

"What the hell are you looking at?!" Gleam suddenly snaps at the other districts.

Thankfully, many of the districts still have a healthy fear of us, and quickly they return their eyes to their trays. Finding something interesting about their food that they never noticed before.

Some who are still looking at us turn their gaze when they see Blye's cold, icy, and harsh glare.

Lila continues to giggle. Then she bites into her apple.

"This surely has been an entertaining lunch," I say, trying to break the ice a little bit. To do that, I reach over and pluck Lila's apple from her grasp. Her eyes widen in surprise, and she's about to protest. I quickly sink my teeth into it and bite down. The juice of the apple fills my mouth as I chew what I took a bite of. When I swallow, I can't help but grin.

Lila, however, is not amused. Angrily she asks, "Really?"

I chuckle. "Yeah."

Nolan decides to do something stupid to help break the ice, as well. Though I think he's mostly just doing it to be a pest. He puts his feet up on the table and leans back, swigging some grape juice. I have to move my plate to the side in order to keep his feet from getting into it. My tolerance for his bull crap is waning by the second.

"This drink is good, I request more!" he exclaims. Then throws his cup on the ground. Everyone at our table is staring at him. "If they think we are barbarians, might as well act like it," he explains.

Gleam shakes his head and doesn't look at Nolan. In fact, he isn't looking at anyone. From the expression on his face, I can tell he's trying to pretend he isn't here.

Meanwhile, Aqua is face-palming and grumbling something about how immature Nolan is.

My eyes look down past Lila and towards Blye. She's face-palming as well, and mumbling under her breath. All I can catch are the words, "I want to leave. Now."

Believe me, I know the feeling. If I wasn't the leader, I'd be leaving right now. But to leave would be to show that I am weak. And I can't allow Nolan to think that. He's got a fat head as it is, I don't need it getting bigger.

I give another glance at Nolan's feet. With the way he's propped up, I can imagine him as a viking of some sort. When I was doing my regular schooling (the subjects not covered in the Career academy), I remember studying the vikings and their stories. He's got the looks and the arrogant, sloppy persona down. All you would need to do is fit him with some fur clothes, seal boots, and a bronze helmet with horns sticking out of it and...presto!

I look up from Nolan's feet, and look him in the face. "You feeling relaxed there?"

He grins at me. "Yes. Yes, I am. Thanks for asking."

I wonder what would happen if I shove his feet off the table. If it would lead to him falling back altogether with a crash, it would definitely be worth it. However, I need to keep my cool. I can't let him get on my nerves that easily. If he does, then I know I'm going to go through hell in the arena. Yesterday, I let him get on my nerves, and I ended up shoving an apple in his mouth. I can't let my anger get out like that again. Not yet, anyway. I'll pretend to go with it for a while. Secretly though, I'm counting down the days when I can thrust a sword into his back.

Lila laughs, bringing me from my pool of thoughts. I watch as she gives him a look that predictably reflects what she's going to say next. "Idiot."

"That's nice, coming from the midget." Nolan yawns after he says this.

"I'm not that much shorter than you."

"But you're much, much smaller."

Lila looks at him suspiciously. "Nope, not really..."

"Hmmm," Nolan says, as if he were actually reconsidering. "Maybe you're right. It must be your brain cell count I was thinking about."

And Lila thinks I'm confusing?

"Oh," Lila says. "Ha ha," she adds sarcastically, then rolls her eyes. Then quickly she adds, "Idiot."

Of course, this doesn't seem to have any effect on Nolan. He gets up from the table. "Well, I'm going to go run around the Capitol with Lead. We'll go blow stuff up and kill important people. Wish me luck."

Lila rolls her eyes.

Aqua looks at Nolan with disbelief. "Sure, if you want to get killed, or thrown out of the Games." She sighs and rolls her eyes too.

"Or turned into an Avox," Blye mumbles.

"Wow, no sense of humor!" Nolan exclaims. He turns towards me. "She thinks me serious?"

I'm so fed up with Nolan, it's amazing I'm able to say diplomatically, "Just go, and leave us in peace."

"Fine, crabass," he says to me. He'll pay for that one later. Then he rolls his eyes. "Sheesh, Lila must be rubbing off on you or something."

Lila throws an apple at him. "Beat it!"

Nolan grins. "Thanks for the snack." He bites into the apple and leaves.

Rolling her eyes again, Lila says, "He's really getting on my nerves."

Knowing that she might need some cheering up, I decide to try. "Don't tell me he's replacing me in that department." I give her a wicked smile. "I'm going to have to be trying harder to get on your case, then."

In a half-joking tone, she responds, "Lovely, just what I need. Like you weren't a handful enough."

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "Believe me, I'm going to be more than a handful to you one of these days." My face takes on a flirty look. But this is not the typical one. This is not the one that I usually give girls who I just plan on being with for maybe a few days and then breaking up with. I'm not quite sure what this is. Never have I done this before. Nobody I have ever been with before has ever gotten me to give them an expression like this. Nobody at all. So I'm not sure what to think. My mind pounds, trying to come up with a logical answer.

When I do, though, I surprise even myself.

I am in love with Lila Callbrooke. My district partner. My ally. My closest friend right now in this place. And no, I'm not talking about that hormonal urge where all you want to do is hug and kiss and have a great time. No, this is something honest and real. It's more than a like-like. This is genuine care. It's kind of caring I have for Sage, except even more, because I honestly can't see myself with Sage.

Lila is looking at me, lifting an eyebrow. "You all right, Dominic?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I ask, not taking my eyes off her.

To my annoyance, Gleam cuts in. "She's worried that Nolan's wearing you down."

"Will you stay out of this?" Lila asks him, sharp and annoyed.

A robotic female voice voice suddenly announces, "Will the following tributes please report to the gymnasium for private sessions: Gleam Jewett."

Gleam looks up. "Yes," he says, and then walks away to perform his training session.

"Good luck," I hear Blye say.

Lila returns us to our conversation. "Because."

I smile. "Is that concern I detect in your voice? Who would have thought you would be concerned for me?"

She narrows her eyes. That's how I know that I got her. Her snide voice only confirms that I'm right. "I don't care."

I chuckle. "If you say so, but you know, nobody is falling for it. We can all tell you care about me." I wink at her. "In more ways than one."

She tries to subtly look around at everyone in the Dining Hall. Some may not have noticed, but I do. Probably because I'm close to her and I can actually see it, but I know that's what she would do anyway. However, I've learned from yesterday not to automatically peg her, because she may surprise you.

Lila sighs. "If you say so, Dominic." She smirks.

I smirk back. "I know you care, Lila," I say. "You try and hide it, but you do. Admittedly, you are pretty convincing at times." I lean in closer to her face, so that my eyes are looking into hers. "I can see through your disguise, though."

She looks into my eyes briefly, just briefly. And I can see all the warmth and caring inside her. That's how I know that she feels the same way that I do. We both care for each other. This is her chance! This is her chance to come out and admit that she does. All she has to do is say it.

"I don't like to be accused of things," are the only words she says.

I try and keep a calm look. Inside my head, I'm screaming every foul word and obscenity that I know. Why? Why didn't she come out and admit it? That was her chance! I gave her a chance to do it, and she didn't take it! This is driving me nuts. The one girl, the one girl that I actually care about, is the one who's playing hard to get. This hardly makes any sense. Is she doing this because she's afraid to admit it? Or is this some sort of Games strategy? To drive me nuts, knowing it will get her far in the Games? Only one of us can come out, after all. Perhaps that's it.

But I don't know. And I don't bother asking, because I know she won't bother telling. Instead, I shrug and say, "Fine then, be that way. You can't fool me."

She turns to me angrily and searches my eyes for something. Something is masked in them. Not only them, but also her expression. "Watch me. I bet I can, more than you think." A hint of a smile forms on her lips, before she turns away and eats the food on her tray quietly.

I groan. "Fine. But we need to talk."

She smirks, knowing that she's driving me nuts. "About what?" Her eyebrows raise as she asks.

I reach my hand over, and gently hold her hand in mine. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't pull away. She tries to hide it, but I can see the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile. For a few moments we just sit there. Just taking in the sight of her. Embracing the warmth that's flowing between our hands. Everything is silent around us. There is only the two of us. No one else.

Finally, I manage to start, "The thing-"

And that's when Nolan decides to pop back into the picture. "Isn't that precious? They're holding hands!"

Aqua, who must have been sitting there quietly, feeling awkward, pops into the conversation. "So...what's, uh...what's going on between you two?" She ventures only halfway, because she knows the consequences. That Lila and I will rip her apart.

Blye, who is getting a side-look at us because she's sitting next to Lila, says, "Awkward."

Lila purses her lips and pulls her hand away from mine, placing it in her lap. Again, more obscenities are roaring around in my head. I watch as Lila looks at everyone gathered around our table. She smiles sweetly. "I swear," she says, "if you four don't shut up or leave, I will personally shove a knife down each and every one of your idiotic throats. Okay?"

"I'm just curious," Aqua says. "And I wouldn't be shoving knives anywhere if I were you. Save it for the arena." She sticks out her tongue and goes back to being silent.

"Have fun, you two!" Nolan says. Then as he leaves, he adds, "Ta-ta!"

I glare at everyone else who's still staring. "You know, it would be much appreciated if you stayed out of this."

Lila nods in agreement.

The female robot voice comes back on. "Blye Ivory," it says.

A surprised look appears on Blye's face. "Wow, that was fast," she says as she makes her way to the gymnasium.

The rest of lunch up until I'm called for my training session passes in silence. During that time, I think hard and deeply about what I just did with Lila. I think about the things that I'm feeling. And I think about how these feelings will potentially effect me in the Games. I know that they might cause distractions, but heck, they're not going away. You can't switch feelings for someone off like a light. Even if you do want to stop liking someone, it takes a while.

Plus there's this whole thing I've got with Adeline. No doubt that that's pushing away Lila as well. As long as I continue talking and interacting with Adeline the way I have been, Lila will never be able to take my word. Yet another obstacle, along with the Games, that's in my way. Except...one of those obstacles doesn't have to be one.

And that's what I realize what I must to do to show Lila how much I truly care for her...

I must end things between Adeline and I.

* * *

**Call's A/N: **Hi! It's CallMeMockingjay again!

I'm surprised at the number of people who liked Jake! I thought he'd be a somewhat hated character…you know, one of the ones you just have to hate, but it's just…I'm so glad more people liked him than I thought!

Anyway, hope you like the chapter!

**Jake Hall****, 14 ~ District 7 Male**

**CallMeMockingjay**

A chill. Cold, quiet, and quick. It comes at me in my sleep. It's cold, but somehow also warm and familiarly comforting. I look around the vast land of blankness. The only thing that's not completely blank and white is the large black platform the size of a ship that I'm standing on. As I'm looking for the familiar coldish-warmish thing, I feel something straighten up some hair on the back of my head, and a grin so wide appears on my face.

"Mom!" I exclaim, whipping around, but only feel a blast of cold-warm air hit my face. I frown. _Must be behind me_. She's here. She's definitely here. "Mom, where are you?"

"Jake." The word is long and drawn-out, but sweet and soft - like how she always said it. I smile and turn around quickly. But she's not there. "Jake." She repeats my name again and again, and just as I'm about to ask why she's torturing me like this, she says, "Jake…never…interrupt…"

I flinch, remembering how stern she was about never interrupting. Cynthia and I got in trouble for it.

"Mom…"

I suddenly feel blankets around me, a bed under me, and a room full of hot air that reminds me I didn't turn on the air-conditioning last night.

I get out of bed in my boxers, and go to the bathroom for a shower. I've figured out by now that you've to be careful when picking your settings in this thing, so I press a button that I think is just regular warm water, and then another that means unscented shampoo. I massage the shampoo into my dark, curly hair.

Then I get dressed in my training clothes. After that, I brush my teeth. And before I know it, I'm spiking my mop of hair with gel, like I used to when we could spare money for some when Mom was alive. My dream inspired it.

When I reach the breakfast table, I ignore the others' reactions—if they react—and shovel a cinnamon roll down my throat, and then eat a roll with raisins and honey on it. Someone keeps nudging me as I do. I finally look up after the roll. It's my stylist, Jameesha.

Jameesha smiles and nods at my hair, and I look at all the foods, not wanting to hear it. I take a bowl and fill it with fruit salad, picking out the peaches, which I hate. "Jake. How come I never thought of spiking your hair? It's perfect," she says. "I think I have a better plan for interviews…"

I nod absently and get up, going off to eat the rest of my food in the sitting room.

In there, I turn on the TV and see a re-re-re-and-however-many-more-re's-there-are-in-that-word-recap of the reapings. The voice-over announcer says, "It's hard to tell who'll get what based on the reapings, isn't it?"

"Yes." The other announcer laughs. "It surely is."

They commentate on District 1's tributes as Rhinestone begs me to rejoin them in the dining room. I refuse with silence and continue to eat as they move on to District 2, with the tiny little girl that I know can throw a hell of a knife, and the strong brute that could snap his district partner's neck at whim. Though, I've seen him looking at her: it's a mixture of entertainment, amusement, care, mocking. But the care is there, nonetheless. I know. It's somewhat like the way my father would look at my mother when she was annoying him. He still always loved her.

Just as I get to the girl from 3 on the re-re-recaps, Rhinestone calls, "Jake! It's time to go!"

I roll my eyes and place my bowl on the side table next to the chair, but drop my fork onto the chair to annoy the escort. Then Keelyn and I go to the elevator and wait in silence with the boys from 8 and 9, and the girl from 11. As we go, both from 3 enter. When the door finally opens, I barrel out, away from the claustrophobic elevator. I enter the training room and dart for the axes.

I hit the dummies, over and over. I know I'm good at this; it's just something to get my mind away from Mom and Dad. It doesn't help that my hair is spiky like she always liked me to have it, or that I'm throwing axes, which Dad loved to watch at his lumberyard. Or - his boss's lumberyard, that is.

I am about to go over to where the spears are, but see four of the Careers gathered there and think otherwise. Not a smart idea.

Instead, I go up to the Gauntlet, the site of the original District 4 female's death. Well, just below it is. Where I am is where she was just before she died. _If someone trips me, I swear I'll drag them down with me. And if I live, I'll kill them so hard in the arena, _I think as I step up for my turn after waiting in the short line.

I run fast, and narrowly escape the first trainer's foam weapon because he swung it a little too quick. I gain momentum because I didn't have to jump, and I expect to fall flat on my face after I do jump next time; I'm not the fastest runner ever — that has been proven throughout these previous two days of training — but I'm pretty fast. When I jump over the second weapon, I stumble, _almost _trip, and then luckily keep going at a slower speed. The third one just slightly hits me, which I mark as a slight nick to the skin if it were real. Not a major wound. Something I could easily escape.

I decide that I should brush up on some survival skills that I wasn't so good at yesterday or the day before, and do the ones I haven't yet. And then sit by to watch other tributes.

First, I head over to the healing station. It's _definitely _one I'm not good at. I listen to the trainer as she boringly explains the importance of some plants and grasses and even animals and bugs when healing certain things. It's not super thorough. No, it never is; they want us to suffer and be pretty much not experienced at all, so why train us good? Why make it so we can perfectly make a concoction to heal ourselves and live longer? Why make it so we can easily learn new weapons to protect ourselves? Why give us the full lesson on how to make a really good shelter that's nicely hidden and very tough against the weather? They want us to get down and dirty and, more than anything, dead.

I make a pretty good splint, from what the trainer tells me. Her brown eyes bore into the shape of the splint as she examines it for a moment, wiping her red bangs out of her face and over behind her ears with the rest of her blonde hair that turns brown at the bottom. I can't even tell her natural hair color; the blonde, brown, and red all look natural, and her roots are all three colors. Capitol people. Worrying about noticeable hair dyes while the rest of us starve with lost parents and a very busy sister who can't afford to sustain a family of guinea pigs.

And they call _us_ disgusting.

I leave the station before I snap and go over to the edible plants station, which I was not good at yesterday when I tried it, and where the trainer looks normal except for her different-colored eyes. I just tell myself that they are naturally like that, despite the fact that I know they're not, and listen as she tells me information and then hands me a book to study with. I read and read and look at the pictures for what seems like forever, trying hard to memorize every word, every exact detail, each curve of a petal that makes it different from the poisonous type. I try to record every little speck of color on the leaf, every description of the textures, even the likelihood of a root coming up with the plant. Thoroughly. It's almost like I go through each picture eight times, but all I do is examine...slowly...read the words...slowly.

Then one of the trainer's assistants quizzes me, the book behind his back. We whip through the test. He gives no hints if I'm doing well or not, so I become slower, thinking more, trying to picture the words, trying to imagine the feeling as I feel a leaf, or the color as I look at a plant, or the taste as I eat a berry that they have "ridded all harmful bacteria" from. Which is a trick, I'm sure, and I answer 'not poisonous' to it.

"You answered forty-seven of fifty-five questions correctly," the trainer tells me. "That is good."

I nod and get up, heading for the animal identification station, which I haven't yet visited. There, the trainer does the same exact things, but I barely pay any attention this time.

Now I watch the other tributes. The scattered Careers. The people from 6. The people going tentatively on the Gauntlet, terrified still because of the District 4 girl's death. Someone doing hand-to-hand combat. It's all boring. I am really, really ready for lunch and then the private training session.

I go off into space as the trainer talks about my time in the Games and what I'll do.

He shoves a book in my hand. "Kid. Kid. _Kid_," he says. "Are you gonna train or just sit there like a lump?"

"I am not a lump," I mutter. Then a confused look appears on my blank face. "Who calls someone a 'lump', anyway?"

"Don't be testy on me, boy," he snarls, probably trying to make me feel threatened. He is a Capitol's weasel, his hair dyed and his eyes an insanely unnatural color of blue — a shade that's icier than any ice you can think of, and would send chills down your spine if he was not as skinny as a toothpick and a _Capitol _person.

I roll my eyes, and then narrow them. I get up.

"This station is _useless_," I hiss down at his appalled face, and then walk away, standing straight and tall, letting the muscles that actually show show themselves.

I wrestled before my parents died, and I also work in the lumberyards occasionally (I can never keep my job at any of them, because it's rare for me to consistently show up when I should, or at all, really). I do not look like a scrawny little freak. But I don't look as muscled as all the exercise I go through should grant.

I head to the nonexistent line in front of the hand-to-hand combat ring. The trainer is throwing light punches at a tribute, though I don't see which. Soon, they start to wrestle, and this I pay attention to; I try to study the moves the trainer uses, like I did back home when watching another wrestler's practice.

I stare off into space again, even though it will be my turn in a second. And just as I start to think about one thing, it is my turn. The trainer, sweating heavily, says, "Next."

I step up. First, he shows me moves that will be essential when going hand-to-hand against someone, not at all what I think he taught the other tribute. Figures. He shows me enough punches — how many can there really be?! — and explains the stances and moves of a fight like this.

And then we start to actually go at it. He throws a punch; I dodge like he told me. I throw a punch, aiming for his gut, and then - as nimbly as I can - get out of the way, going behind the trainer and attempting to swipe his leg out from under him as he turns toward me. Turns out, he was putting most of his weight on that leg because of the way he was turning, and I end up tripping myself.

Since I'm down, he gives me a hand and says we need to work on that. I growl and get up myself. Then I furiously throw a bunch of punches at him. If they actually _hit _him, they would've really hurt. But I guess I can't fight like this.

After about twenty minutes (since no one else shows up on the line), I manage to dodge ten punches in a row and land two — my second and third ones. He finally gives up and says, "That was great. Let me take a drink, kid, and then we'll move on to wrestling."

_Finally,_ I think, instead of mumbling it like I'd normally do. This trainer I would like to keep _not_ furious at me and my "loud mouth," blah, blah, blah, whatever that last trainer thought of me and what I said.

Then we wrestle. And it's just like back in the old days, except the trainer is bigger and a lot older than I am. After a while, it's proven that he is much more skilled in the regular hand-to-hand than wrestling, as I have him narrowly beat. But I'm sure that if we went again and I was still tired because of losing the first skill, and then because of going against him and actually _winning_, I would lose. Maybe not a big-time loss, but I would still lose, nonetheless.

"Great job, kid," says the trainer as he slightly pants and tosses me an unopened bottle of water among many. "You can go."

I set the water down, not taking a drink, and as I climb out of the ring, my eyes fall on the archery station. Suddenly, I wonder if I could somewhat learn another weapon in the time I have left before the training day ends and it's lunch. I nod to myself and jump down, then head quickly over to where the archery targets and dummies are. I pick up a bow that has already been strung and grab some arrows.

Then for the next fifteen minutes, I try to teach myself how to shoot. I set the arrow to the bowstring again and again, but I never hit anywhere close to where I want to. I hit the edge of the target, or the dummy's knee, or the wall behind them. After a while, I give up on archery and search for another weapon to try out. I notice that the area where some of the Careers were huddled — around the spears — is now clear.

I see that spears are a lot less like axes than I thought. They're more like sticks, which I don't know how I didn't notice. I pick one up and chuck it, as hard as I can, and it spins in the air a little bit and then crashes to the ground. I pick up another and angle it differently. Straight to the ground it goes. I take another. The foot of the dummy. Another. The fingertips. Another. The, er..."_special_" area.

Eventually, I give up on spear-throwing too, and am about to spar with a trainer and see if I'm good at that...when I nearly run straight into a scene with two Careers and some girl that's from...5? 10? I don't know. I turn around and head to the knife station, away from the Careers. It's always good to stay away from them.

I pick up a serrated knife and swipe my finger along the thick, smooth part of the weapon. Then I eye the dummy and throw the knife like a dart, exactly how I have always figured you throw knives. When it does not do at all what it's supposed to do, I sigh and try throwing it from behind my head, and then just yank my arm forward and release the knife. The knife heads straight for my feet, and I jump back; it just _barely _misses my shoes. I throw down the knife in my other hand and abandon trying to learn another weapon. Axes, hand-to-hand, and wrestling is fine enough with me.

It doesn't matter. The outturn of the Games doesn't matter to me. Either way, it will bring me happiness. It will make all the pain, hurting, threat of arrest, the fact that everyone but Cynthia hates me back home (and she might even, too), and the fact that I have to pretend like I just don't give a damn, exactly the opposite of what I'm feeling constantly) — it will make all of that go away. So whether I win or not, I'll be content. I'll be fine.

Cynthia will move on eventually. She'll marry her best friend Cole. They'll be a family, have kids, and live a life. If I die, no one will care, not even me. But living, and living a perfect life in the lap of luxury after killing, taking out all the hate, being free of all crimes because there are none in the arena — that would be nice, too.

I could accept that.


	21. Private Sessions

******Geeky's A/N**: When he thinks 'we', it's not just tributes.

**Agustis Hurlen****, 15 ~ District 3 Male**

**geekysmartnerd  
**

I leapt for joy when Rameses accepted my alliance proposal on Training Day 2.

Inside, I mean. A calm façade remained on my exterior as I thanked Rameses, telling him that "I look forward to working with" him. A white lie, of course.

True, I am sorta' looking forward to working with him in the future. In fact, we seem to get along. Kinda'. Our lovely relationship involves minimal talking and cold shoulders, but we stick together, and always sit in a corner of the room during lunch.

I learned a lot about this Rameses person. What he's capable and incapable of. What his opinions are. He's slightly younger than me, yet he's much taller than I am - much to my chagrin. I get the feeling that he's just as likely to kill me in my sleep as I am him. That's the part that I'm not looking forward to.

I turn my attention to the District 1 homosapien Gleam Jewett as he comes out of the Private Demonstrations room. The other District 1 tribute, Blye Ivory, goes in.

Huh. So at least fifteen minutes has passed.

You see, every tribute has to, well, demonstrate to those amazingly amazing Capitol Gamemakers what they can do, and they'll be given a score that is (more likely than not) biased. Those wonderful, patient, and biased Gamemakers give each tribute at least fifteen minutes to demonstrate their fantastic skills.

So, there're four tributes that go before me. Each gets at least fifteen minutes of judging. Equals me having to wait for at least an hour (most likely more, 'cause Careers like to show off and Gamemakers like them), which means I'm bored.

After the District 1 and 2 tributes have gone and left, it's my turn.

Standing up, I make my way towards the door of the Private Demonstrations room. Rameses catches my eye and gives me a curt nod. I suppose that's his way of saying "Good luck."

Well, thanks, Rameses, I'll need it. I return the favor to him.

Truth be told, I don't know what to do. But I do know that I want to show those Gamemakers their place.

An idea forms as I eye the knife rack. I stride over to it, scanning.

I remember seeing one here - Aha! I found it! I pull it out of the rack by its rubber handle, its serrated blade gleaming in the fluorescent light. An electrician knife, is what it's called. It's used to cut stuff like wires without shocking oneself (hence its rubber handle). I've used them several times in my job.

The arena probably has some wires if an electrician knife is on the rack.

I also pick up a rubber glove used for the climbing station. A Gamemaker clears his throat. I ignore him and wander towards the survival stations. Bending down, I pick up something.

"What is your name?" that Gamemaker asks.

I turn towards the Gamemaker platform and smirk. "I thought you already knew, but I guess not." I walk over. "Fine, I'll tell. Agustis Hurlen, District Three tribute." By now, I'm so close that I can touch it, and the only thing they can see of me is my head. Good. "I don't suppose you all are going to give me an unbiased score, right?"

"You are here to demonstrate what you can do, not talk," one Gamemaker says irritably.

I glance down. And then back up.

"Well, maybe I am going t-" The room goes dark.

Confused Gamemakers shout words of surprise, and one of them even emits a scream. The room has no window, so it's pitch-black.

Boosting myself onto the platform, I flick on a torchlight and stick it under my chin, grinning like a crazed maniac. Queue more screams and shouts.

"You may leave," the Head Gamemaker says icily.

The grin turns into a smile. I shine the light to the edge of the platform, and hop off.

I decide to do something nice. I fix the wires controlling the lights, although it's not going to last. I exit the room after tossing the rubber gloves, knife, and torchlight.

Lesson of the day, children: when arrogance gets the better of you, there will be consequences, but the brief glory is oh. . .so. . .sweet. I could care less if they give me a 0; in fact, let them. I could turn it into an advantage.

Scanning the sea of tributes, sleeping, or with bored or anxious expressions plain on their faces, I spot my rival Erin Flight absorbed in a book. Smirking, I walk over to her.

She still hasn't noticed me.

I lean closer and whisper, "Watch your back."

Seeing her jump makes me laugh.

If looks could kill. Standing up, she bites her thumb in my direction; I only smile.

Scowling, she storms into the Private Demonstrations room.

I look at the book Erin was reading: 'Romeo and Juliet'. Oh, so that's how she knows about it.

I walk out of the waiting room, and someone approaches me. Turns out, it's Rameses.

"Agustis, what was that all about?" He must've seen the exchange Erin and I had. Heck, everyone probably saw it.

"What was what about?"

Rameses frowns. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I don't know exactly what you're talking about if I don't know what you're talking about."

"The thumb-biting and that gesture you made," Rameses said, irritation lacing his monotonous voice.

I smile. "In Shakespeare's time, biting your thumb to someone was like me flipping my middle finger at you." With that, I turn on my heel and walk.

"You can't afford to play these childish games, Agustis," Rameses calls. I say nothing.

He's right. I can't afford to joke around or let my arrogance get the better of me, especially not in the Games. I need an edge over the other tributes.

I ask myself if there's a way to give me an edge over Erin. Of course, it's too late to pull a Christopher Silver (him - unintentionally - killing Alison Rain, and all), and it's against the rules to hurt another tribute.

An idea forms in my mind. I smile slightly.

Yes, no one will suspect. No one at all.

My smile broadens.

This is going to be great.

My eyes widen, and I roughly shake my head to be rid of those thoughts. Gus, this is not like you, I think.

But in these Games, if you want to win them, you have to do anything, be it cruel or kind. If you want to go back home, Gus, you have to do anything: cheat, kill, deceive.

No, I shouldn't!

No one's going to be playing nice with you, and they'll kill you without hesitation if you let them, both Tribute and Gamemaker.

Okay, I'll do it.

I stop in front of a window. The gray skies Fahres loves reflect off of the windows of the nearby buildings, dulling the garish Capitol lights.

God, what have I become? What have we become?

* * *

**XOXO's A/N:** Sorry about the huge delay in updating. . .I'm afraid everyone was waiting for my chapter to come on. *hangs head it shame*

My dah-ling sister (see, Priscilla? I am giving you credit!) helped me write part of this chapter, just so you'd know.

So. . .enjoy? (Hopefully.)

**Angela Jaxson, 13 ~ District 9 Female**

**XOXOFutureFame**

My hands felt slightly damp as I reached, fingers fumbling slightly, and undid the complicated braid my stylist worked so hard on.

She insisted that first impressions mattered as I shrieked the apartment down. I replied saying that the Gamemakers were demented idiots; I didn't give a damn for their opinions, and that their opinions "simply didn't matter".

We both knew who was lying.

"Grey Whitton!"

I gave a startled jolt as the name of my district partner was announced. He got up, his eyes darting nervously.

"Good luck," I murmured – to both him and myself, for I was next. He gave me a faint nod of acknowledgement before stumbling off.

I squirmed in my seat, my eyes glued to the clock. The second-hand seemed to tick by twice its normal speed, the minute-hand creeping forward rapidly. I would never admit it – in fact, if I were asked I'd laugh it off and deny it – but I was nervous. Really nervous.

My ADHD was worse than ever, and I fought the urge to jump up and start skipping. And I definitely wasn't in the "skipping-cheerily-through-meadows" mood.

"Angela Jaxson!"

It took all my self-control (which I had very little of) not to scream every foul word (which I took pride in knowing a lot of) at the announcer. Without realizing it, a small squeak emerged from the back of my throat. The remaining tributes glanced at me questioningly.

I cleared my throat, getting up quickly.

"I am _so_ ready for this!" I exclaimed, my voice cool and confident, the exact opposite of the raging battle in my heart. The other tributes looked at me in disbelief. "Psh, I'm not nervous at _all_. I am pumped. This will be so awesome!"

My voice cracked slightly at the end, and I let out a whoop, putting as much energy and excitement into it as possible. The other tributes stared at me as if I were crazy. I took this as a sign to shut up and leave.

They were right. I was – in fact, I had been for a long, long time.

Turning around, I skipped into the private training room.

Inside, the Gamemakers were huddled around the buffet table. I stood awkwardly, unsure what to do. Seconds ticked past and they didn't seem to acknowledge my presence. They were almost ignoring me, and I did not like being ignored. Oh no, they did _not_ go there.

"Ahem?" I cleared my throat, letting the slightest bit of annoyance seep through. My instinct was to start screaming and cussing at them until I held their attention, but I had a feeling that would not help my odds, which barely existed in the first place.

They turned around, looking surprised to see me, my expression showing impatience.

Regaining their posture and attempting to appear more professional, they sat, looking at me expectantly.

"Angela Demeter Jaxson, District Nine female tribute," I declared grandly.

They stared down at me, unimpressed.

Looking at the Gamemakers sitting on a balcony, I felt especially small. Puffing up to my full height of 4'10", I walked with as much dignity as I could muster to the center of the room. I gazed around, pondering which weapon to start out with. My eyes fell on a scythe.

Having come from District 9, I was expected to be good with a scythe. That was not the case, something I learned the hard way on the first day of training: I attempted to use the weapon, but the size weighed me down, causing me to fall forward and narrowly miss being punctured by it. I got up, mortified and furious. Looking back, I was glad I didn't meet a similar fate to the girl from 4 – what was her name? Alison?

The Gamemakers stared at me impatiently, their eyes darting greedily to the buffet table. Not wanting to lose what little of their attention I had, I reached for the nearest weapon – a bow and arrow. It was one of the weapons I was better at; it was light enough for me to hold, and I didn't have any near-fatal accidents.

Standing about twenty feet from the target, I positioned the arrow to aim for the dummy's heart.

Drawing back the string, I let it fly.

_Thunk!_

The arrow stuck firmly in the dummy's forehead. My first reaction was to crawl in a hole and die. I was aiming for the heart. I felt my cheeks blush fifty shades of red.

Then it dawned on me that the Gamemakers had no idea what I was aiming for.

"I meant to do that!" I blurted out. What they don't know can't hurt them, right? And it sure can benefit me.

I heard their murmurs of approval, and I smiled inwardly. If they caught on to the hastiness in my voice, they didn't show it. Or maybe they just didn't care. I suspect the second.

I shot a few more arrows, unfortunately not receiving a random stroke of luck as before. The Gamemakers began to lose their interest rapidly. I saw one get up and walk to the buffet table, helping himself to a large slice of rich chocolate cake. The _nerve_ of him!

The action seemed to trigger a switch, and I watched furiously as one by one, the rest got up.

I muttered angrily to myself, and stalked to a neat, tidy rack of knives; the carefully arranged blades gleamed in the harsh light of the room, and I snatched one. I did these pretty well, too. Or at least, I thought so.

I resisted the urge to blurt out an even more choice string of insults than the ones I'd been fantasizing about before. I must have been in a pretty bad mood today. At least I had reason.

Curling my fist around the handle of the knife, so that my nails (recently polished to perfection) dug into my skin and left painful red crescent marks, I dragged myself to the dummies I had been aiming arrows at. I drew back my arm and tried to imagine something that might be helpful. Oh, yes, throwing something at one of the people at the orphanage - preferably the headmistress. Or maybe one of the Gamemakers. The thought made me feel better.

I gnashed my teeth and threw the knife as best as I could, seeing it moving almost in slow motion. It landed in the left shoulder, which was far too off for my liking. I looked up as I headed back to the rack of knives, and saw a few select Gamemakers watching me, nodding slightly. But most were still stuffing their mouths. I flushed again in fury and embarrassment.

I grabbed a few more knives and took another shot at it, but they were hardly better than my first. The Gamemakers didn't even have a wisp of attention left in them. I stared at the dummy with narrowed eyes and hurled the last knife.

_Thunk!_

_Yes!_ A shout of victory echoed through my head as I quickly inspected the heart of the dummy; the knife had landed smack-dab in the center of it. I looked eagerly at the Gamemakers, expecting something different.

The Gamemakers were still stuffing their faces. I saw maybe one taking notes.

I needed to impress them, or at least get their attention. What could I do – throw a knife at _them_? _Pigs_.

That was the best insult I could come up with. New low.

My eyes scanned the trainers standing on the balcony – you could tell them apart from the Gamemakers by their uniforms – and selected a short girl of about twenty with a high, blue-streaked ponytail. I announced, as if it were some huge honor, that I chose her as my hand-to-hand combat opponent. She looked surprised, looked me up and down, and sneered – as if the thought amused her.

I immediately regretted the idea at she walked down the steps, head raised. She was much taller close-up. I could make out the muscles on her arms. I thought of backing out, and the humiliation of it. Nope, backing out was not an option. I was going to die before the Games had even begun.

If there was one good thing my announcement did, it was get the attention of the rest of the Gamemakers. They observed me, a thirteen-year-old small for her age, over their wine glasses, looking slightly amused at the thought of watching me get killed. How I hated them.

The trainer – Martha, I read her nametag through squinted eyes – and I stood facing each other in the center of the room. I felt incredibly stupid, and wished that I'd tried out the hand-to-hand combat station during training. Who was supposed to go first? Were we supposed to, like, bow to each other before starting? Shake hands?

I didn't get time to decide – I found myself sprawled on my back with the air knocked out of me.

"Hey!" I yelled, jumping to my feet. "I wasn't ready! I never said to start! How dare you!" I heard the Gamemakers' laughter overhead, and felt the back of my neck burn. "That wasn't fair! I demand a rematch-"

"Sorry," one of the Gamemakers said from above, smiling apologetically. "Your fifteen minutes is up. I'm afraid-"

"WHAT?!" I stomped my feet childishly. I was acting like a brat, and I didn't care. "That's not fair! My time can't be up! I didn't nearly get as much time as I was supposed to!"

"-I'm afraid you have to leave-"

"You guys spend about half of the time stuffing your faces and not paying any attention to me _what-so-ever_. This is injustice! I-" I barely acknowledged the two Peacekeepers flanking the exit as they came over and lifted me by each arm. "I demand a lawyer; I will _sue_! How DARE you!" I was still screaming and cursing with flying colours as I was oh-so kindly _escorted _to the doors. "I was ignored nearly the whole time! Did anyone pay _any_ attention to me?_ Nooo_, because you guys were all too busy cramming your mouth with cake! CAKE! And you didn't even offer ME any! The injustice of this world-"

My glare was met by a huge metal door, slammed in my face.


	22. Dinner: II

**Always' A/N: **So, we have my second chapter! The one, the only…DINNER SCENE! Hope you like it!

* * *

**Erin Flight, 16 ~ District 3 Female**

**AlwaysHasAPlan**

'So – Erin, Agustis, darlings, how was training?' asked who else but the twit, Candy.

There was only one person I hated more – Agustis. I used to think he was just arrogant, but now I knew the truth: he was a stuck-up _brat _who thought he was better then everyone, especially me. I didn't know why, and honestly? I didn't care.

I finally answered Candy. 'Just peachy, Candy, just peachy…'

She believed it. I nearly laughed, but, of course, I couldn't. That would make poor Candy feel bad.

Beetee, our junior mentor, said, 'What stations did you do today?'

The Avoxes brought out a humongous meal of hamburgers, hot dogs, pizza – basically everything you could ever want to eat. I put a slice of pizza on my plate and bit into it.

'I did knot-tying, edible plants, climbing, basically survival stuff,' answered Agustis.

'What about you, Erin?' asked Bolt, our other mentor.

'Basically the same as Agustis, and...' I hesitated.

'Cat got your tongue, Erin?' mocked Agustis.

'The knife station,' I finished, trying to keep calm by eating more yummy pizza.

'Erin,' Beetee chastised, 'the Gamemakers never score our tributes who show off their skills with weapons over a four.'

Bolt backed him up. 'You just ruined your chances for sponsors, Erin.'

Finally, Candy said, 'Why did _I_ get the hopeless tribute who doesn't listen to her mentors?'

I'd had enough. I got _so_ angry. 'ARE YOU THE ONE WHO IS GOING TO BE DYING IN A WEEK?! I DON'T THINK SO, SO JUST...JUST...SHUT UP!'

I stormed out of the dining room to my room, and locked myself in the bathroom.

Looking around, I saw a couple toothbrushes and a whole catalogue full of different kinds of toothpaste. I pressed the red button on the wall labeled 'Avox'.

An Avox came, and I said, 'I would like a razor and a tube of chocolate toothpaste, please.'

The Avox nodded and left the room. I waited a couple of minutes, and I thought: _She is just the same as me. She only had her future destroyed, while I had my life destroyed._ _The one similarity between us is that we both have no future – courtesy of the Capitol, of course._

She returned and placed the razor and toothpaste on the counter, and left me alone. I continued looking around, seeing the huge shower and the bathtub (more like swimming pool) right next to each other. I reached over and gingerly picked up the tube of chocolate toothpaste, opening the cap and squirting some onto a purple toothbrush with black stripes. I put it in my mouth, trying to get rid of the dirty feeling of shouting at the only people who could, would help me. Obviously, it didn't work.

Next, I reached for the razor and shaving cream. My prep team said they wouldn't wax me again if I shaved my arms and legs every day. I didn't believe them, but hey, a small chance is better then no chance, right? Just thinking about getting waxed, I shuddered. I applied the cream to my left arm and brought the razor to it. All of a sudden, I felt a sting – a pleasant sting, in my wrist. Curious, I looked down, and...it was beautiful, exquisite. I was totally and utterly _mesmerized._

But you know the scariest thing of all? The thing that had me mesmerized was..._my own blood._ It was wonderful. I felt the best I had felt since the day before the reaping; I felt alive, I felt _free_. And in that moment, I knew that the Hunger Games weren't going to be so bad at all. You know why? Because now I was in control; now, this was my game.

No matter what, I would not become the Capitol's pawn. Before, I might have hoped for my survival, even at the price of becoming the Capitol's pawn, but now I hoped for something new: to start a rebellion, tributes in future games refusing to fight, kill, hurt other children like themselves. Obviously this was going to take years to accomplish, if ever. But as long as a few people could place a spark, then maybe someone in the future could nurture the spark, make it grow into a flame. And the people of Panem could turn the flame into an inferno. Then the Capitol could be defeated once and for all.

Nice dream, right? But if we didn't have hope, then we didn't have anything, so we had to try, however unlikely it seemed that we would succeed.

I sighed, and figured I'd better go back to dinner and apologise. I exited the bathroom and went into my room, pressing the 'Avox' button again.

An Avox appeared, and I said, 'Three-cheese pizza, please.' A half-minute later, she came in with a plate full of cheese pizza, and I quickly ate a slice and headed into the dining room, hopefully in time for dessert.

'Candy, Bolt, Beetee – I'm sorry for blowing up at you. I really shouldn't have, and it was very inappropriate of me,' I said once I got into the dining room, making sure to lay it on thick for Candy.

'That's fine, Erin, just try not to do it again,' said Candy, with her nose stuck up, the 'I'm-a-Capitolite-so-I'm-better-than-you' attitude she always seemed to portray at the reapings.

'Why don't you join us for dessert, Erin, before we watch the training scores?' Beetee asked.

'Sure,' I said.

But when I sat down, my left forearm was exposed, and with it, the jagged, deep cut that was still dripping blood.

'Erin!' exclaimed Candy. 'We need to get you to the medical center! It might _scar_!'

'Candy?' Bolt said. 'How about we just bandage it instead?'

'Fine,' she grumped, her perfectly manicured hand reaching out to push yet another Avox button.

Within seconds, an Avox appeared, sinking into a deep bow the second he saw Candy.

'You may rise,' Candy said. She continued, 'Erin darling here, the female tribute of District Three, has an awful cut. I need you to fetch a medical Avox and all the tools he will need.'

He nodded and hurried out of the room.

I picked out a slice of lemon meringue pie and a vanilla cupcake with chocolate frosting while we were waiting.

In less then a minute, maybe two, he returned with the same girl that had given me my razor and toothpaste.

He bowed and retreated from the room, while she rushed over and grabbed my arm none too gently. She put some cream on it that really hurt, and then wrapped it up in a crisp white bandage. Nodding to Candy, she bowed and left the room.

'Well then, now that that's taken care of, how about we eat this yummy dessert spread!' chirped Candy brightly.

No one seemed to share her enthusiasm, but I obligingly stretched out a hand for my delicious cupcake, when I had the best idea ever.

'Candy?' I asked.

'Yes, Erin, daaarling?' she said, dragging out the 'a' in darling.

'Do you think that tomorrow, the Avoxes can make a dessert_ pizza_?' I asked excitedly.

'Anything is possible, Erin. Just let me call one and let them know,' she said.

I internally groaned; I didn't want to be reminded of my own fate. But she was already pushing the bright red button with the bold black writing saying 'Avox'. I couldn't exactly yell, 'No, stop!' Or could I?

An Avox appeared, and Candy quickly said, 'Pizza will be the main dessert tomorrow. Leave now.'

An astonished look appeared on the Avox's face and she almost forgot to bow, but she hurriedly did so and rushed out of the room.

I, too, was shocked, because if I knew one thing about Candy, it was that she absolutely _loved _to flaunt her power. And that was not flaunting. That was the closest thing to humane I have seen from Candy, although there was still a long way to go before it was even halfway humane. I mean, her _job _was to escort teenagers to their deaths, and then cheer as they died. How was that humane at all? I mean, honestly, couldn't the Capitol show even a little decency?

But, then, of course, they wouldn't be the Capitol.

I finally leaned forward and ate every last bite of my simply delicious and just pure yummy cupcake, then started on the lemon meringue pie.

When everyone was finished, Beetee said, 'Let's go watch the training scores.'

Everyone agreed, and we filed silently out of the dining room to see just how bad my score was.


	23. Learning Scores

**Dance's A/N: **Hello out there, to all our. . .readers? Do we actually have any of those?. . .from Planet Blood Dreams. Just to let you know (if in fact you do exist):

(A.) We would really appreciate reviews. Let us know we're not just talking to ourselves.

(B.) We're holding auditions for a few spots in "Blood Dreams"'s sequel, "Bound by Blood". So if you're interested in writing the District 2 male, District 5 male, District 10 female, or District 12 female (or any combination of those four) next time around, please PM either myself, wjjmwmsn5, or Megalor9. We'd be happy to have you!

(C.) There will be another POV in this chapter. Mine, actually. It's taking me FOREVER to finish it; I don't know why it's so hard to get into my tribute's head at the moment. The fact that I have school doesn't help.

So yeah. Hi again. :)

Anybody?

* * *

**Lead Morrison****, 17 ~ District 5 Male**

**Megalor9**

"I am totally and utterly screwed, aren't I?"

The mentors are sitting at the table – Vanth and Shilo – along with the two airheaded stylists. Plus Nova. (I've made a pact to become brutal enemies with her; she's too...similar to me. Only one Lead Morrison.) Vanth has a confused look. (Then again, he's always confused. He drinks too much alcohol.)

Shilo, however, gasps a bit. "You actually-"

"Yep. Right in their faces. Boom. Like that. So what can they do to me?" I tell them, a sharp edge in my voice.

"Well, what did you do to the Gamemakers? Annoy them to death?" I hear Nova joining this conversation about...well...

"Why do you need to know? You'll find out in the arena, you-"

One of the stylists, the female one who attends to me, shrieks, "QUIET!" You can hear a pin drop. "I feel like I'm being kept out of something. What are you all talking about?" she says in a shrill, tremulous voice probably several octaves above my own.

"Well, _Lead_" – Shilo points at me – "decided to blow up the Training Center."

"Whaaaat?"

It seems as if I'm back at home, and my dad is pointing out my bad deeds of the day to my mom. Very deja vu.

"Well, I didn't blow anything up; I just made a bomb and exploded it. It didn't hurt anyone," I half-whine.

"It doesn't matter. You _could've_ hurt someone," Shilo says.

Vanth stands, and starts to waddle over to the restroom. Probably to barf up all the alcohol and food he's eaten. Very awkward silence ensues.

"Oh, you'll get a score of two, no doubt about it," the stylist says.

Why do I not know her name? Easy. Why should I fraternize with these weird Capitol people? Why do I even care about them?

"I was showing them what I could do! That's at least worth a five!"

"Manners," says the stylist, as she shudders a bit.

That's it. As if all she cares about is manners. God, these people piss me off so much. There's a golden example of why.

Will I be able to survive this dinner? Probably not. I calmly get out of my chair, pushing it in behind me, and walk off to my own private room.

This room – in fact, call it a suite – has been my base of operations ever since I got here. Which was what, three or four days ago? I had been at home, safe and sound, less than a week ago. It feels like months have passed.

By playing with the features of this room, I've been able to change the floor to the softest carpet on the planet; the shower has the perfect temperature; the walls are my favorite dark orange color. I don't need to eat with the others, when I've got my whole feast in here.

This is the only part of the Capitol I like. The technology. I could spend entire days in here just toying and fiddling with the wires and circuits. Heck, it would probably take me at least a month to figure out this place. And that's a record, considering I'm a genius.

The control panels have been cleverly hidden: small, barely noticeable dents in the once-steel walls. It took stealing a hairpin from Nova to open them up. I walk to my bed desk. There's the hairpin.

I locate the control panel for the TV on the wall, high, to the right of my bed. Luckily, I'm tall enough to reach. I take the hairpin, fold out a side, and slip it right next to the small dent. A click, and I'm able to open it with my fingernails. Inside there's a green board, with dozens upon dozens of wires. If I said 'dozens upon dozens', that doesn't describe how many wires are there. More than dozens. Thousands. Some are paper-tin, some thick, some red, blue, yellow, white, green. Confused? So am I.

But the basics: red, yellow, and white must connect to the TV picture, video, and audio. Almost every television has those. The other colors such as purple, blue, and green must control what gets put on the television. I bet they put those limitations on the television that the tributes get. Because the Capitol doesn't want them finding out what else is screwed up in the districts. So if I take the controlling parts out, then I should be able to see the same TV that the president watches, and all the officials. Maybe.

I realize that I'm probably under surveillance. I've also found the camera. Right on the door; you'd look for a camera on the ceiling, but it's on the door instead. If I want to hack into the TV feed, I should probably cover up the camera. So, with what? I walk to the food menu and find the microphone. All I have to do is whisper the dish, and it'll be brought up, piping hot. So I whisper, "Strawberry soup."

Something slides out with a whoosh, and there's my soup. I've tried this before, it's really good. More like a dessert meal. It's just a liquid that tastes like the most plump, delicious strawberries you could ever imagine. It would be a shame to waste it. But I guess I have to.

I pick up the bowl and spoon, start slurping the sweet liquid, then walk around the room, taking sips as I go. I'm heading to the door, and now's the moment. I fake-trip. Pretend I've tripped on something, maybe my shoe, but fall nevertheless. And fling my thick strawberry soup onto the camera on the door. Now all they'll be seeing is pink.

I walk to the open panel and quickly pull out the weird colored wires from the green board. Then find the silver remote that activates the huge TV on the wall. The remote follows the contours of my hand, making it easy to hold, and easy to hit the power button.

And just as I thought: a broadcast other than the past Hunger Games comes on. Great. I pat myself on the back. Good job, Lead, you did it. I start flipping channels, looking for something that catches my eye. Finally, I find it. District 5.

There's an interviewer and a Peacekeeper in the District 5 square. The one I was reaped in. The interviewer is asking questions currently, and the Peacekeeper (a female by the sound of it) is answering.

"So we're here because of further advances in the District Five stage explosion. It has so far been confirmed that it was not malfunctioning equipment, that someone planted a bomb there. Are there any leads about the perpetrator?" the interviewer asks.

"Well, this was found under the stage," the Peacekeeper says, holding up a discarded, pretty bent-up metal casing. A sphere. I instantly recognize it. I made that, welded it together with my brother. I put the bomb inside it.

"And that is a...what?"

"A bomb shell, definitely from the smoke bomb placed under the stage. It's too bent up now, from when the stage was put away, that we haven't been able to fingerprint-check it yet."

"Is this your only evidence?"

"No. We have several suspects, one that has been accused by a sixteen-year-old who was at the reaping. He presented knowledge that the culprit may have been the male tribute this year – Lead Morrison," the Peacekeeper says, then quickly adds: "The young man prefers to be nameless."

"So, your other suspects?"

The Peacekeeper lists a couple names I don't know. Ex-criminals, drunks, and mechanics, I'm betting. "We have all the suspects in custody, except for one – the tribute. We have his family held under threat of arrest, and they are being closely watched. They await further judgment."

It's like a hammer blow. They've got my family. They've got _my _family. No. No. They don't. They don't have me yet, but if I perish, surely they will. I turn the TV off. I was hoping on news about the explosion, yes, when I hacked the TV. But I didn't want to hear the fact that my family's been kept basically under house arrest. My brother, Xavier. My parents.

I'm glad that they don't immediately suspect me now. Apparently, the case was too dented for them to get a straight fingerprint reading. So they could believe it was someone else, someone other than Lead, that blew up the smoke bomb. In other words, a semi-perfect crime.

The one other thing I'm sure of is that Javier, my so-called 'friend', ratted me out. He tipped them off at the reaping that I was up to no good, and now he's presenting evidence against me? I officially declare him the worst friend – no, he doesn't deserve the title 'friend' anymore. He's hurt my family. If I get back home, I'll kill him. That is, if they don't kill me first.

Now I have to get back. If I'm a victor, they won't harm my family. That would just bring attention to the Capitol and the president and the Gamemakers. So now I have to try. Hard. I was already trying, but now it's gone to the next level. Lead is going to win from now on. I'll do anything for it, even kill the other tributes.

In my rage, I take a pillow (as I doubt it'll break anything) and throw it across the room at the door. A huge slam echoes throughout my quarters, and immediately I hear footsteps. The door cracks open a little bit, and I see the eye of the stylist who attends to me, the one that's been so damn annoying all the time.

"Is everything okay in here?" she asks, very quietly, and with a softer tone than I thought possible for a Capitol person.

"Yes," I reply. A short, one-word answer. I hold my head down sulkily, so the escort doesn't see the small tears welling in my eyes.

"Well, if you don't mind, they're about to show the scores on TV. In about ten minutes. You need to come down, now."

TV. How I despise it now. But I reply as nicely and controlled as I can, without any sniffles. "Sure. Give me a minute." A minute is all I need.

I step into the bathroom, pull out a soft handkerchief from the wall, and dab my eyes, where the tears stung the insides. I can't believe it. I sure hope that camera is still seeing pink, because no way I'm giving those damn Gamemakers the pleasure of seeing me being...emotional.

Slowly, I drag my fingers down my face, to drag out all my anger and emotion, and try to act lax and positive. Well, I'm never that positive, but a little more positive than usual. After sufficient time to recover myself, I have to walk out. I'm now extremely intent on hearing my score being broadcasted.

I walk out of my room, heading down to the big room that's right off the dining room. There's a large circle of red plush couches, and I lay down on one, preparing. Nova has also sat down, but on a chair opposite where I am. Shilo sits one couch away from me, talking to the female stylist while an Avox comes up to them, offering drinks. The Avox holds a tray of drinks out to me, and I grab an amber-colored one. I hold the glass to my lips, take a long swig, and enjoy as the drink burns the inside of my throat. Sweet, I got something with alcohol in it. Right now, I don't really mind that I'd eventually turn into Vanth if I keep drinking this stuff. It's good, calms the nerves.

The TV gets turned on, and the scores are just starting. Caesar Flickerman is sitting at a desk.

"Welcome, everyone! We've spent the last hour predicting the scores and the odds, but now you shall find the truth! As you know, the tributes were rated on a scale of one to twelve, after three days of careful evaluation. The Gamemakers would like to acknowledge that these scores are in no way, shape, or form a predictor of the outcome of the Games; they only signify a tribute's _outwardly apparent_ chances of survival. As such, the Gamemakers cannot legally be held responsible for compensation concerning any misplaced bets. Now, that said – let us begin."

I look to the mentors and Nova, who are all focused on the television now.

"From District One: Blye Ivory, with a score of..." Caesar pauses. "_Nine_."

"Gleam Jewett, with a score...of nine."

Pictures of the tributes' faces flash with their names at the bottom, and their score circling around their head. All in fancy golden lettering, sparkling with light. Maybe a little overkill on the special effects?

"From District Two: Lila Callbrooke, with a score of..." Now I'm interested. I want to learn this creepy bi-polar's score. "_Ten_."

I have to admit I'm extremely surprised. She didn't make an expression on me, and she's a foot shorter than I am. So how?

Lila's a Career, so I don't doubt this much.

"Dominic Parraldi, with a score of ten!" That doesn't surprise me, as he's a hulking giant, and that's guaranteeing you a 7 minimum.

"From District Three: Erin Flight, with a score of seven." The District 3 tributes usually aren't very impressive. What else am I learning about my fellow tributes today?

"Agustis Hurlen, with a score of two." Now I'm smirking. The first real low score we have, and it's from the supposedly 'smart' district...quite ironic.

"From District Four: Aqua Rio, with a score of...nine." Another Career, not much.

"Nolan Nixe, with a score of ten." That was the other bulky guy in the Career pack. I don't doubt anything so far.

"From District Five: Nova Aztek, with a score of..." I glance in the corner of my eyes. Nova is hanging onto every word Lucio says. I'm sure she got a 4. "_Eight_."

Wha-what? I seem to be the only one in shock here. The stylist has absolutely gone to pieces. Nova has her hand raised in the air in celebration. Everyone else is clapping like happy seals.

"OhmyGodNovawhatahighscore!" the stylist shrieks with joy.

I see Nova glance maliciously at me, and I can feel her words, even though she doesn't say them. _Beat that, you idiot. _Her expression is kind of similar to something I've seen on Lila's face before.

"Lead Morrison, with a score..."

I look back at the screen to see a mugshot of my face. Oh, fuck. Now is the moment of judgment. If I end up with a 2 (which I'm pretty sure I will, like the Agustis dude), Nova will never let me hear the end of it. She'll take that fact to my grave, and I mean this literally.

I sabotaged the reaping. I blew the Training Center up. Just...dammit.

I'm totally, utterly screwed.

"Of eight."

Hahaha...I must've missed my low score, and they've moved on to District 6. That's probably Christopher's score; the chick from 6 is blind, I think. But the screen, it shows _my_ face up there, with the same golden letters: 'Lead Morrison', and a giant golden '8' rotating around my head. My training score. It's an 8.

"What?" I hear myself exclaim.

The stylist seems to follow me, yelling out, "_Whaaat_? He made a _bomb _and he got an _eight_?!"

"I got an eight, I got an eight..." I trail off, then come back with some more words. "Hell yeah! Eight!"

But no one seems to be applauding my 8.

Shilo scowls and says, "Well, they must've liked your spunk then, I guess."

"Or _maybe," _I say, in a mocking tone, "I actually have some skill. But the spunk thing too." Then I turn to Nova, whose jaw looks like it's been detached. Mouth hanging wide open. "_Beat that_. Really? You knew I would beat you."

"Quiet! Don't you want to see the other scores? Look!" Shilo points to the television.

The District 6 girl – the blind one – apparently somehow gets a 5, as I catch it circle around her head for a moment. Then it moves on to the male.

I watch as the rest of my competition blurs by, but all I can think of is my 8.

"Rameses Johnson, with a score of three."

Missed a few districts, but there weren't many good scores. They've mostly been 5's or 6's, a few 4's. This is another low one. I'm not scared of any of the other tributes now.

My score also gives me hope for my side-plan: join the Careers. I've been talking them up, but now with an 8, I should be in their pack for sure. My flaw? What if they accept Nova? I doubt it, because she's a lot more hostile than I am, and I can have good conversations – like with Aqua.

Good job, Lead, good job. Enough for tonight. I grab another amber drink from an Avox and toast my own success. Why not? Drink and eat what you can, you'll most likely be dead in 'x' amount of time, but who cares?

I fall asleep there, on the couch, probably from having too much alcohol. I only hear one thing from Nero, and it makes a little pit of dread in my stomach.

"Re – r-r-remember that tomorrow, w-we have to p-p-prepare for your interviews!"

* * *

**Twilla Applestone****, 12 ~ District 8 Female**

**Clara Meliza**

_"Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed."_

_— _Alexander Pope

"Twilly, come quick! It's starting!" I soon recognize Rena's sweet, motherly drawl. A smile automatically forms at my lips. "Hurry!"

Dropping my hairbrush on the expensive dresser, I smooth back my perfectly combed hair and skip down the hallway, cheerfully whistling. I just returned from my session a few hours ago. It went wonderfully – Mother and Father would be so proud! – and my mood has sky-rocketed. I'm done being sad. No more tears will be shed over my foreseeable future. If these really are my last few days, shouldn't I at least enjoy them?

As soon as I come into view, I catch sight of my temporary family chatting away as they wait for the program to begin. Weave pats the spot next to him, giving me permission to join him. I send a dazzling smile in his direction. "Thank you," I say, sinking into the soft cushion.

"No problem, Twilly," he responds, grinning down at me, but his eyes are impossibly sad. I cock my head to the side. Have I said something wrong?

Just as I'm about to ask, a picture of District 1's girl tribute flashes onto the screen, along with her score. She gets a 9 and so does her district partner. Weave lets out a loud scoff at this. I don't know why. Tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 usually get in the 8 – 10 range, so it's not all that surprising.

"Vultures," I hear him mutter. Woof nods in agreement.

Like before, the next Career tributes (from District 2) get the same score – this time a matching set of 10. During training, they were merciless. Images of them slicing off countless dummies' heads flash before my eyes, causing a shiver to run up and down my spine.

District 3's scores show up before the last Career district. The girl earns a surprising 7. (I wonder what she did to deserve it.) The girl's picture disappears, and the boy gets a 2. _Huh? _I've seen tributes get low scores before, but not that low. Could this be part of his strategy?

As suspected, District 4's tributes get high ratings that will no doubt save them in the arena. The girl gets a 9, and the boy gets a 10.

I feel Weave stiffen beside me at the District 4 boy. I soon remember him as the one who stared at me funny, causing Weave to push me behind him. Another shiver runs down my back at the sight of his over-confident smirk.

I find myself growing bored as District 5's tributes learn their training scores: matching 8's.

The girl from 6 – who is very much blind – gets an average score of 5, while her district partner receives a slightly higher score.

My palms start to sweat as District 7's tributes appear on screen, because I know that once they're done I'll be next. They get the same score.

Before long, a picture of my smiling face lights up the darkening room; they must have turned down the lights for dramatic effect or something. Nervously fumbling with my hands, I focus on the gigantic Capitol television, searching for my score of...what, exactly?

The Gamemakers sure looked impressed by my unexpected knife-throwing skills. My excitement builds. What if I get a better score than the Careers? What if I actually win this thing? What if–?

My heart jumps around in my chest as a startling, horrifyingly mediocre 5 flashes onto the screen. A choked sound escapes my throat. "W–what?"

My ears turn bright red, shame radiating off of me like the horrid perfume Ferronia Pallum reeks of.

"Oh, Twilly," Weave murmurs, patting my shoulder. His comforting hand causes tears to form painfully in my eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"I – I–" I continue to stutter, jumping up from my spot on the couch. My head shakes in denial. "I don't understand...I was so good! They clapped _so_ loudly, you guys. This must be some mistake!"

I stop shouting once Weave's emotionless face and a small, crisp 4 appear on the screen. The silence in the room is almost deafening. Woof looks lost on what to do, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Weave seems to be looking everywhere but me, no doubt trying – and failing – to hide unshed tears that have formed in his chestnut eyes.

Ferronia Pallum has somehow backed away from the room without being noticed, along with our stylists. The boys look after their retreating figures in envy.

Our pictures disappear, causing District 9's tributes to take our place. I don't even bother to check their scores. My throat feels as though it's been filled with cotton balls. Luckily, Rena knows just how to handle me.

"Oh, sweetheart," she says, shaking her head as she gather me into her arms. Sobs rack my body almost instantaneously. "Shh. It's okay, Twilly. It's okay."

_So much for not being sad anymore,_ I think, continuing to cry my eyes out.

We stay like this for I-don't-know-how-long. Hours? Days, maybe?

Woof and Weave are nowhere to be seen, having made a run for it as soon as our backs were turned. I can't say I blame them. I'd leave, too, if I were them.

Rena holds me tightly to her chest, the feeling of closeness similar to how I feel holding Taffeta or Velveteen when they have a bad nightmare. This brings on a whole new round of sobs, thinking of how disappointed they must be in me.

"It doesn't matter, you know," says Rena, after I've quieted down some.

"What doesn't matter?"

"Your score, dear," she answers, patient as ever. "No one pays much attention to them anyway."

"Really?" My voice sounds exceptionally small as I wipe the tears from my eyes.

She smiles. "Really." She runs a soothing hand up and down my spine. "Why don't we talk about this over some tea, hm? It'll do wonders, I promise."

I nod. I could use some tea. After all the crying, my throat is about as dry as a desert.

She then waves over one of the servants and asks for them to heat up a kettle, her kind eyes warm and inviting. She's a lot nicer to them than Ferronia ever was. Her smile is so infectious; no matter how sad I am, I can't help but return the gesture. She's so much like Aunt Flanny, in a way. Always giving and never expecting anything in return. It's kind of eerie how similar their personalities are.

It seems that I miss my family so much that I've been assigning their roles to whomever I think resembles the most. While my temporary family has been nothing but nice to me, they're still not – and probably never will be – as good as the real thing. It's just not the same.

Rena tugs on my hand lightly, smiling encouragingly as she guides us through the long hallway into the dining hall. Loud hissing echoes throughout the suite.

About a minute or so later, a uniform-clad woman emerges from the kitchen with twin mugs. She sets them down in front of us without saying a word. I look at Rena, clearly confused, but all she does is shake her head.

_Not now,_ her eyes respond.

All of the sudden, like a spark bursting into a flame, exhaustion plagues my fatigued body as I drag the warm cup to my lips. "What's next, Rena?" I ask her, hoarse.

She hesitates. "We wait, Twilly," says Rena, brushing stray hairs away from my sweat-slicked forehead. "And we hope for a miracle."


	24. Interview

**Dance's A/N: **Again, there will be another POV in this chapter. Mine. x _ x

Everyone's waiting on me now. Fun stuff.

* * *

**Nolan Nixe****, 18 ~ District 4 Male**

**John 'Doc' Holliday**

The Head Gamemaker approaches. "Hello, son, how have you been? How are your brother and your mother doing?"

I don't have to think twice about what I'm about to do. I drop into a fighting stance, cock my hips, and release a powerful uppercut that goes right under my father's jaw. I don't even hold a little bit back. This bastard had all that and more coming to him.

The Peacekeepers come right in after me, but my father The Gamemaker calls them off. Smart move.

"They are dead. Dead for a long time. Not that you care; you're the one who left us."

Then I stalk off for the interview.

"You're going to regret that. . ." he mutters.

Make me.

* * *

I hear Caesar call out my name. "Now we have Nolan Nixe, from District Four!"

It's 'Nitchee', not 'Nix', fool. Oh well, can't expect the arrogant Capitolites to learn how to speak properly.

I walk up to Caesar, wave to the crowd, flash them a grin, and shake Caesar's hand. Caesar smiles at me and sits in his chair, waving at the other for me to sit. He silences the crowd with a magnificent wave of his hand, and they all fall silent.

"So, Nolan. . .the Capitol must be quite different. What's your favorite thing about it so far?"

I am totally prepared for this question. "Well, sir, it was the steaks. I love them. As you may know, there is nothing like that in my district."

Caesar and the crowd laugh appreciatively. "Indeed. I happen to love them, as well. But District Four's seafood is _amazing_. I do have to ask, what is your favorite color?" And over half of the Capitol women fall silent.

"Oh, I've fallen in and out when I was younger. It was a powder blue when my father used to visit us. The deep green of the sea. When my brother died, it was the immense black of the sky. But recently it's lime green like seaweed. . .I'm afraid, though, in these next few days, I will only be seeing a lot of red and black."

Capitol pigs love a good sob story and a suck-up. The crowd lets out "awww"s, and Caesar puts his hand on his heart and pretends to wipe a tear away. "That's touching. Speaking of your family, is there anyone you want to say something to back home?"

"The only family or friends I have still alive are my mentors, my district partner, and my father. But they are all here at the Capitol. And my father and I aren't really on speaking terms. So no, sir, nothing to say."

I did it; I'm here, brother.

Sensei, aren't you proud of me?

Mother, I've grown into a man.

The crowd lets out sympathizing "awww"s for me again. Caesar gives me a sad look. "I'm sorry. I suppose that means you don't have a district token?"

"I do; it's the first fish carving my brother made. I never told him I couldn't sell it because it was too hideous; no one would buy it. That is my token." I pull it out of my pocket, to show a very misshapen swordfish. "Careful - he used real metal for the nose."

Caesar gives a laugh, and the crowd laughs as well. He touches the nose and quickly yanks his hand back, pretending as if it hurt him. The crowd laughs at the act.

"Well, it's very. . .thoughtful of him. On to a serious note: can you tell me what your plan is when you get into the arena?" he asks me. The crowd goes quiet.

"Trust no one, use everyone. If I told you much more, I might lose. Otherwise, I just want to survive. And maybe make a fool of Gleam."

The crowd gives a laugh, and Caesar chuckles at my mention of Gleam. "Boy, I'd like to hear his response to that, but Gleam has had his time." The buzzer goes off. "Well, it looks like that's all the time we have. Thank you for being here, and may the odds be ever in your favor," Caesar says with a charming smile. He stands up to shake my hand again.

I stand up, this time with pure hate and death in my eyes, my handshake just a tad firmer than need be. "Have a nice day," I hiss.

Then I turn on my heels and walk out. Whenever I hear that saying - 'may the odds ever be in your favor' - I think of my dad. The bastard.

* * *

**Grey Whitton****, 13 ~ District 9 Male**

**HungerGames226**

-;-

Grain. I'm reminded of home the instant Cassia, my stylist, puts me in my interview outfit: a chestnut suit jacket, tailored professionally; a brilliant gold metallic shirt with dainty paisley designs; a shiny grey tie, to match my eyes; black pants; and pointy black dress shoes.

My hair stays the same. It doesn't grow down – it grows up. Thick chestnut spikes, with golden streaks in certain light. Unlike me, who does one rough hand through it, Cassia insists on spiking each little clump together so it looks perfect. She stands back and reflects on her work.

"You'll do."

This is the first thing she's said to me directly since I met her a few days ago. Not even prepping me for the chariot ride. Tonight, she's attempted to sport blonde curls – not real blonde, but a coarse plastic wig with a fake shine. Her light green dress, with angular sleeves and a skirt that juts out sharply, reminds me of those mints I used to get when I was little. Tattooed breasts, gem-inlaid eyelids. She is the Capitol in all its entirety, the image of surgical glamorization.

With Cassia's blessing to keep me sane, I get a slight push towards Tanson, who's standing near the door with a smile, although he looks as if he pities me. "You look great, Grey!" he says.

In all honesty, I know, but in a few days I'll be gone. And it won't matter how good I looked tonight. I smile and give a small "Thank you", so that he knows I heard him, but brush past him to my room in the Training Center apartment.

My bed is on the lowest level, with stairs on all four sides leading to it. I pick up my pillow and put my hand inside the case, where I feel around for a minute. I touch something cold. There it is. I pull out my pendant and examine it closely. We don't need to go down for the interviews for an hour.

I sit on my bed and hold my token up to the light. Real silver, if you can believe it. The silver you can only order from the jeweler if you've saved half your life. Must have been from before I was born, because we were never wealthy enough to afford such finery. The doves, facing each other, have been carved delicately.

That's when I notice it. Extremely worn, but slightly readable. Barely. A few words – five? Six? – are engraved on the back. I bring it closer, and I can just make out:

"_For Tanson_

_On your first reaping"_

I lift my head slightly and set the pendant on my lap, not knowing what to say. I face the abstract sculpture at the far end of my room. Random tubes, with curves and twists. Ornate glass butterflies emerge from it and spring into flight, spreading out until they cover a majority of the ceiling, sharing the space with white lanterns. The butterflies catch the light so that they create a beautiful array of colors on my bed. I almost envy the glass creatures. They will remain here, forever and always. They have no obligations, no worries.

I direct my attention back to the pendant. Tanson? Why would I have a pendant that belonged to him? I remember the funny looks he gave me on the train. At the pendant. So I guess he recognizes it? But the question is…why would I have it?

_Tanson Miller, _I analyze the name. Miller. It's been mentioned a few times before, but by who? Not Dad, because he would have the same last name as me. It must be Mom, then. I've never asked her last name. Genevieve Miller?

Could they be siblings? They don't look alike. Well, not any more then the general similarities between District 9 citizens. Mom has a different shade of hair, a shiny auburn, which sets her apart. She has dark brown, almost black, eyes. Pale skin with a few freckles over the nose. What about the small birthmark that looks like a pinecone on her left temple? I share that with her. Does Tanson?

I feel betrayed. If I really am related to Tanson, nobody ever told me. But I'm deciding to go with the idea anyways. Tanson has a poor little nephew who's being thrown into the arena, years after his uncle. Will the odds be in his favor? Probably not. Living in District 9 gives our tributes a disadvantage.

Well, it gives _me _a disadvantage. Mom didn't want me to start working in the field yet; she said the income is her job. I was supposed to start next year…I would've gotten a distinct advantage with a knife of any sort. Hacking away at my opponent's flesh as if it were nothing more than golden wheat that I've spent my entire life around.

Any weapons I get at the Cornucopia at the initial Bloodbath will be useless.

Tanson. Back to Tanson. I'll have to be on the lookout now for any weak points in my mentor. Weird looks. Recognition. Has he known we're related? The thought unsettles me. I've seen him my whole life, just because the Victor's Village is close to where we live. Our shack is practically in the Village's backyard. Mom and her own brother spent so long living by each other, never a word…

I have never seen Tanson talk to anybody. In fact, he spends most of his time indoors. Sometimes at night I feel like I hear screaming, but I shake it off. Victors have everything. There's no reason for screaming, is there?

I cross the room and look out of the window. From a distance, the Capitol is beautiful. When you've actually entered it, the buildings are scary, large and concrete, and exude power. Although it's late and the interviews start in less than an hour, people are still crowding the streets, strolling along. Probably shopping for a new wig, or setting up a surgery appointment, or putting last-minute touches on their makeup in their roomy apartments. They have time to waste. Time to kill with acts of leisure, beauty, or simply sitting around and soaking up each other's riches. It sickens me.

It's not their faults, of course. They've been raised no other way than to embrace their wealth and not understand what the Hunger Games truly stand for. For them it's entertainment.

They don't have to do anything. They don't ever have to feel scared, or hungry, or depressed, or homesick, or not have enough to wear and live in a wretched old house that's on the verge of collapse, or envy people, or fight, or beg, or plead for basic needs, or-

_Stop. Stop it, Grey, _I tell myself. I distance myself from the window. As long as I'm here, I practically _am _a Capitol citizen. I certainly should be honored that way, shouldn't I? I've faced more hardships then they ever have.

I've always felt this way about the Capitol. What makes them so much better than us? What is it? They were born into this life, I was born into mine. They'll be living luxuriously and I'll be dead tomorrow.

Tomorrow…tomorrow. Tomorrow, we'll be in the arena. Could hold anything from an abandoned Capitol funfair to a tropical island to a frozen tundra. Tomorrow, I'll probably get past the Bloodbath – with my speed and everything – but the question is: how long will it take me to scoop up a few items and haul myself the heck out of there?

Suddenly, Angela and I are being whisked down to the interview show's backstage by our stylists. I'll probably just wing it. Whatever impression I make on them today...it won't matter tomorrow.

District 1 goes by, with their bizarre names like "Blye" and "Gleam". And I'm almost positive two of their victors' names are Glitz and Glamor.

District 2, the boy is monstrous as usual. The girl, Lila, is very sarcastic.

District 3. The girl's stylist put her in a dress that has lightning bolting through it.

4, 5, 6. Same as always. Not much to note.

The next two districts fly by (although, I see that 8 has a twelve-year-old). Angela's interview finishes, and the legendary announcer calls my name as I take a deep breath and enter the stage.

* * *

**Jace Winters****, 16 ~ District 12 Male**

**MagnificKCBee**

Caesar silences the crowd as Arianias steps off of the stage. "Our last tribute - Jace Winters of District Twelve!" he calls out, and the crowd goes wild again.

Caesar holds his hand out to shake mine. He smiles as I sit down, and the crowd quiets.

"So, Jace...District Twelve must be very different from the Capitol. What has interested you the most since coming here?"

I laugh. "The food. Definitely the food. I've never seen such variety. I wish I could pack it with me, to take into the Games. But of course, I still miss my mother's home cooking; she makes the best carrot stew." The crowd laughs appreciatively.

"I love the food too!" Caesar says. "I bet you miss your mother, as well. Do you have anything you'd like to say to her, or any of your family?"

"I do miss her, and my sisters. I have four. All of them are crazy, but I miss them," I say sadly. "I'd say not to miss me too much. You know - if I don't make it. I know I'm awesome and probably their only reason for happiness, but they can survive without me," I tease.

The crowd laughs, and Caesar let out a chuckle. "You're pretty important to them. What do you do at home? Can you incorporate it into a skill you can use in the arena?" he asks.

The crowd anticipates my answer.

"Well, I work at the apothecary, so. . .I'm bit of a healer. I know how to fix burns, cuts, anything. I also know how to survive with limited food and water; it was in the healer handbook. I was on the track team, so if I'm ever in a tight spot, I have my legs to count on."

Some nod, and Caesar smiles reassuringly. "So you're fast! That's always a good trait to have!" The crowd claps at his words. "What do you think of your district partner?"

"Arianias. That girl is tough. She kinda' reminds me of my sister; they're both twelve, and you don't want to get on their bad side. I guess that's why I decided to ally with her. If it was my sister here, I would definitely want someone to protect her. And that's what I'm going to do with Arianias. But of course, this is the Hunger Games, so I don't know what's going to happen in the end."

The crowd gives sympathetic "Awww"s, and a few of the cameras pan over to Arianias, capturing her reaction.

"Well, I'm sure she's glad for that. It's good that you're able to ally with each other. Not all district partners get along that well." It looks like Caesar is about to ask another question, but the buzzer goes off. "It looks like that's all the time we have. Thank you for being here, Jace. May the odds be ever in your favor!" Caesar smiles and shakes my hand once more.


End file.
